


Against the Cold.

by Hedge_witch



Series: Against The Cold [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Nobody Dies, Folk Music, Local Politics, M/M, Shameless Self-Indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 46,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/662990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hedge_witch/pseuds/Hedge_witch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On an obscure, wave-wracked island Davos Seaworth and Stannis Baratheon meet. Fortunately, this time the worst things they have to deal with are frustrating family members, the machinations of local politics and finding some way to keep out the cold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fire in Snow.

**Author's Note:**

> About a couple of weeks ago I made the mistake of reading through the Team Dragonstone POV chapters from A Clash of Kings onwards. By some arcane process, which probably had something to do with my desire to construct an alternate reality where everyone is happy and nobody dies, I now have some forty-thousand words of Modern AU fic sitting on my laptop. I would like to reassure everyone that the fic is written in its entirety and I will edit and update it daily. 
> 
> I am using Westeros as the setting, but all the cultural and political details contained herein are those currently in place in the UK. 
> 
> The rating is actually Teen at the moment, but the M rating I have given it reflects the content of later chapters.
> 
> The chapter title is taken from the song 'Tar-Barrel in Dale' by The Unthanks, which was written by George Unthank. If anyone is interested, there is a video of the song here. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1pks0D2xBfI

_Tar-barrel in Dale,_

_Fire in snow,_

_Toast the New Year_

_Bid farewell to the old._

 

_Tar Barrel in Dale:_ The Unthanks. 

 

 

The Smuggler’s Rest was thronged with people, dressed with varying levels of outrageousness but all very firmly in their cups. The heat and noise inside was such that, even on this cold night between December and January, various groups of revelers were huddled around the benches outside, many not even vying for places beneath the patio heaters. 

 

“Do you know how many parties I was invited to tonight?” Sal slurred, prodding Davos in the shoulder, “I mean, do you have any _idea_?”

 

“I would be disappointed if you had not managed to blag your way into a considerable number,” said Davos, prising the bottle of Prosecco from Sal’s fingers and taking a swig, alternating it with a sip of whisky.

 

“Dozens,” the other man moaned, “I could have gone from one end of King’s Landing to the other and never been without a glass of champagne in my hand,” he yanked the bottle back from Davos, “ instead of drinking this stuff. I even got dressed up,” he gestured down at his thin suit jacket and vastly unsuitable shoes, now spattered with mud, “but before I know it I’m catching a train to the arse-end of nowhere to spend New Year’s Eve on a bloody _houseboat,_ freezing my arse off and hobnobbing with people wearing papier mache _stag’s heads,_ for heaven’s sake.” 

 

“Oh shut up and keep drinking,” Davos said equably. 

 

“Such a charmer,” Sal muttered, before turning to scrutinise Davos with exaggerated, drunken, gravity.  “Seriously though, I know you’ve always had a weird predilection for cider and miserable songs about lost sailors and other forms of rural deviancy, the gods know I’ve indulged you often enough, but aren’t you bored out here in the sticks? I mean you’re no longer even on the mainland. I know I’d be chewing my arm off.” 

 

“Yes, well as far as ‘rural deviancy’ goes, we haven’t quite reached the cannibalism stage yet, though if you wanted to try further inland...” Davos drawled.

 

“Well I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad here if you had another warm body to share it with,” Sal continued, as though Davos hadn’t spoken, “but you don’t do you?” He regarded Davos closely, with narrowed eyes, “Don’t you get lonely?”

 

“No,” said Davos, though it was a reproof rather than a denial, “you are not allowed to meddle in these matters, we had an agreement. Gods, have you forgotten the last time you tried to set me up with someone?”

 

Sal grinned, “he wasn’t that bad...”

 

“For you maybe! He was wearing a purple fedora Sal! Oh for...” he glared at Sal, who had tossed back his head and begun to laugh uproariously, “No you thrice-damned pirate! My personal life is not to be engineered for your amusement!” 

 

“Your face when I introduced him to you...” Sal gasped, tears running down his cheeks. 

 

The minute hand crept past midnight, and a raucous chorus of Auld Lang Syne drifted out from the pub, but they did not notice, being entirely occupied with trying to push each other into the sea. 

 

***

 

On the other side of town, Stannis Baratheon acknowledged the dawning of a new year, by briefly pausing in his writing while the clock struck midnight. He then took a sip of his rapidly cooling tea and added a postscript to his letter, wishing Melisandre a Happy New Year. Of course, considering the rate at which she moved around, it would likely be March, and she’d be somewhere in Nepal by the time she received it. 

 

Getting up, Stannis noticed that he had neglected to draw the kitchen blinds, leaving the starless night staring in. That, and the harsh overhead light made the room feel rather cold and he shivered as he quickly rinsed out his cup, glancing up as the whining of the fireworks started, tinting the clouds with green and red. Behind him his phone buzzed, and he grimaced. 

 

“The first drunken text of the evening,” he muttered to himself, “probably Renly...Damn Robert and his parties, I’d better not end up having to call the police again...” 

 

Nevertheless, he carefully read through the text before snorting, tossing the phone aside and heading off to bed, in a rare triumph of hope over expectation. 

 

***

 

Five hours later Stannis stood, hollow-eyed, in front of the duty nurse and patiently listened to her instructions for the care of Renly’s ankle, noting them down carefully and folding the prescription she handed him into his wallet. Behind him Renly groaned, evidently beginning to sober up. 

 

“Gods Stannis, I want to die...” he moaned as he was deposited in Stannis’ car, wincing as he caught his elbow on the door-frame. 

 

“Stop being so insufferably melodramatic,” Stannis snapped, “one would think you would be used to it by now, the gods know I can’t remember you seeing a new year in uninjured. What the hell happened this time?”

 

“Robert and Cersei were fighting...”

 

“As usual. But I fail to see how that involves you...”

 

“They had some fairy-lights up on the garage roof, Cersei kept going on and on about them, she thought they were askew. Anyway, Robert lost his temper and decided he was going to climb up there and tear them all down, and he made me come too, even though I could barely see straight, so obviously I slipped and fell, and he sat up there, roaring away, not a bloody scratch on him. Bastard.”

 

Stannis snorted, “he _made_ you get up there did he? Was he holding a gun to your head?”

 

“Oh come on!” Renly shouted, wincing at the volume of his own voice, he continued in a more subdued tone, “you know what Robert is like, particularly when he’s half soaked, just because you get some masochistic pleasure from going twenty rounds with him, doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” 

 

“Why on earth didn’t you stay away then? I thought you had sworn never to attend one of his parties ever again?”

 

Renly’s mouth drooped sulkily, “I was going to, but Loras and I had a fight and he threw me out.” 

 

“Ah,” said Stannis, with a sense of foreboding. 

 

“So,” Renly continued blithely, “I thought that I would stay with you until my ankle heals.”

 

***

 

Davos walked briskly down the beach, reveling in its winter bleakness and the absence of any other people on the long, grey stretch of sand. Six o’clock was too early for even the most fervent dog-walkers on a day when most people were nursing hangovers. He turned and walked backwards for a few paces, squinting through the wind down the curve of the bay and up to Dragonstone town. Thought the wind howled, the day was clear and the sky hung white over Castle Hill where the grey keep hunched over the buildings below, as though wincing away from the gale. Behind, the grey-green island stretched out, dotted here and there with houses, white against the threatening clouds coming in from the east. It was an austere sight, with little to soothe the eye, but Davos smiled nonetheless, closing his eyes and feeling the bitter lash of the wind on his face.

 

When he opened them he experienced a brief stab of disappointment to see a dark figure advancing down the beach towards him. This was quickly followed by a faint sense of unease, the man walked towards him with such purpose that Davos felt himself a target. He shook off the reflex to run, a relic of his misguided youth, and watched the man draw nearer. He walked stiffly and angrily, but whatever the target of his ire was, it was not Davos, for his eyes were bright but focused on something beyond sight. He was also grinding his teeth with such ferocity that Davos was briefly tempted to intervene, restrained only by the fear that the other man might strike him if he tried. 

 

He looked, Davos reflected, rather like a man going into battle, and he was briefly seized by the fancy that it was not a man, but some spectre, a fragment of memory that was approaching him. The man could be a shadow of some ancient, vengeful king, condemned to rage along the shoreline like the blackened, scudding storm clouds that frequently wracked the sea at this time of year. Of course, this reverie was somewhat spoiled by the frequent buzzing of a mobile phone from the ‘ghost’s’ pocket, a noise that he resolutely ignored. Davos was also troubled by a faint feeling that he had seen the man before, in some different, less dramatic context. 

 

***

 

Stannis left Renly sleeping the last of the previous night off and stamped along the beach, allowing his fury to gradually dissipate into the wind, to batter itself harmlessly against the answering rage of sky and sea. 

 

His thoughts grimly tracked a familiar circle, hovering over the wreck of his family. He and Renly had been very close as children, but his younger brother had long ago jettisoned any respect he might have felt for Stannis, though he still retained his childish assurance that his older brother would clear up after his mistakes. Robert however, held the polar opposite role, generating awe and creating nothing but chaos, ignoring his youngest brother most of the time and then, when he remembered him, plying him with drink and landing him in hospital. The most galling thing was that Robert’s faults were all so _obvious,_ yet, perhaps because of that, or due to Robert’s confident belief that his sins were trivial, even admirable, the world in general and Renly in particular did nothing but forgive him for them. 

 

Through the familiar haze of resentment Stannis became aware that he was not entirely alone on the beach. In front of him, standing almost directly in his path, there was a slight man, buffeted by the wind, his long hair flying out behind him. What struck Stannis was the expression of unease on the man’s  pale, wind-chapped face. He had to check the impulse to look behind him, to see if there was any cause for concern, if some threat followed him. As he drew alongside him however, the man said no word nor gave no sign, though his eyes followed Stannis as he passed him by. Stannis snorted, lengthening his stride to leave the man behind and paying the encounter no further mind. 


	2. Cold Haily Rainy Night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a former Library Assistant I feel compelled to insert a disclaimer here. Librarians don't actually hate everyone, at least, not for most of the time. 
> 
> The music for this chapter is provided by the fantastic Imagined Village, specifically, their version of 'Cold Haily Rainy Night'. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kFaBWP0ZfhI

_My hat is frozen to my head_

_My feet are like two lumps of lead_

_I’m stuck out here, half-drenched, half-dead_

_From standing under your window._

 

_Cold Haily Rainy Night:_ Performed by Imagined Village. 

 

“Jam.” Stannis said, placing the picture book down on the counter with the air of a barrister laying a damning autopsy report in front of a jury. “Jam, smeared all over pages three, five and eight, with some evidence of saliva on page twelve.” 

 

Samwell, Dragonstone Library’s sole surviving Library Assistant, winced, cursing his inability to find a suitable pretext for Stannis to ignore the returns for the children’s library until he had managed to squirrel the worst offenders away somewhere. It was of little consolation to him that any stratagem he had tried to employ would have been swiftly brushed aside, Stannis had been on the warpath since he had got in that morning, the enforced idleness of the Christmas break serving to dam up his energies rather than to attenuate them. 

 

“I assume we have a record of who last borrowed...‘Mimsy the Pony goes to Quarth?” Stannis enquired, his lips curling around the book’s title. At Sam’s fearful nod, he smiled mirthlessly, “send them one of the letters,” he glared at the rest of the pile on the counter, “do the same for all the other vandals.” 

 

Sam shuddered, Stannis’ letters had been known to provoke hysterics among the more sensitive readers. He tried to speculate about his employer as little as possible, as he was still not entirely persuaded that the man couldn’t read his mind, but he couldn’t help wondering sometimes how Stannis had become a librarian. His attitude towards those using the library seemed to be one of general contempt, which wasn’t entirely unusual for library staff, however, he also seemed to regard three-quarters of the books on his shelves as worthless, if not actively abhorrent.  

 

Sam still had nightmares about the day they had received their copies of _Fifty Shades of Grey._

 

However, Sam reflected, Stannis did seem to enjoy writing warning letters, and issuing fines, and prowling up and down the two rows of computers in order to see that the terms of use weren’t being contravened. He also seemed to derive some pleasure from stamping the date in issued books, so Sam supposed the job wasn’t without its compensations. 

 

If the Head Librarian was one of the least welcoming individuals this side of the Narrow Sea, Dragonstone Library itself was one of the more appealing examples of its kind. It was housed in a late-Victorian building, decorated by a minor, if enthusiastic member of the Arts and Crafts movement. If the artist in question had gone a little overboard with the dragon motifs, demonstrating a rather plodding imagination, the overall effect was rather pleasing. The books were still held in proper, custom made shelves and though computer desks and beanbags had crept in, there were still tall windows with stained-glass wyverns weaving up the centre and wide wooden desks in the reference section. 

 

There were also a great many notices dotted about the place, displaying The Rules. Stannis didn’t believe in allowing people to claim ignorance as an excuse. 

 

***

 

“We’re just locking the doors now.” 

 

“Oh!” Davos said, adjusting the board advertising courses at Maidenpool Further Education College and the corresponding leaflets and prospectuses, half of which were still in their packing cases, scattered across the foyer of the library. “Do you want me to come back on Monday morning to finish setting them up?”

 

“Oh no!” The nervous young library assistant, Samwell, hastened to reassure him. “I’m just letting you know. Mr Baratheon should be about half-an-hour yet, he can let you out when he leaves.” 

 

“Alright, well have a good evening then.”

 

“You too sir.”

 

Davos looked up to protest the over-formal mode of address, but the boy had already gone. Shrugging, he turned back to his work.

 

He was interrupted exactly thirty minutes later by someone clearing their throat behind him. Davos glanced back to give some assurance that he was almost finished, but he paused before the words left his mouth. The man looming over him was familiar, he had some association with crashing waves, flying sand and a faint sense of unease, in another second it clicked, it was the man from the beach. True, his lean figure was more austere and contained here, with none of the open rage that had propelled him along the shoreline, but he was nevertheless unmistakeable.

 

The man raised his eyebrow at Davos’ silence. 

 

“Are you quite finished?” He enquired, he did not tap his foot impatiently, but he gave off the air of a man only just restraining himself from doing so. 

 

Davos frowned, unsure if the question was intended to be as hostile as it sounded.

 

Deciding that it was best not to assume an insult unless it was openly offered, he smiled and answered easily, “yes, everything’s set up now.” He gestured down at the packing cases, “is it alright to let me in before you open on Monday so that I can get these out of your way?”

 

“That will be acceptable, if you arrive at eight-o’clock, I will let you in.” 

 

The man cast a disdainful look at the mess, but declined to comment, instead shrugging on a woolen coat that might once have been of good quality, but which was now frayed and battered with age and ill-use. He strode out of the library without looking back, evidently expecting Davos to follow, and he said no further word as he switched off the foyer light and locked the door for the weekend. 

 

Davos hunched his shoulders into his own coat and shuddered, it was not exactly raining, but there was cold water in the rough, biting wind. It was a twenty-minute walk in the dark back to his houseboat and he didn’t really fancy it on a night like this. It was probably best to wait for the bus, despite the many eccentricities of Dragonstone public transport. 

 

***

 

Stannis frowned as he walked off into the night, leaving the other man at the bus-stop outside the library. It was no great coincidence that the man he had seen on the beach on New Year’s Day was a habitué of the library, as outside of the season, the population of Dragonstone was not very large. As Head Librarian he did not spend a huge amount of time in the general readers’ section, but now he came to consider it, he did recall seeing the other man sitting quietly at a desk, often remaining until closing time. He had never paid the man much mind, aside from the general sense of relief he experienced whenever he encountered a quiet, careful and considerate reader, which was all too rarely. 

 

These thoughts absorbed him all the way to the door of his flat, so it was only when he went to unlock his door that he first heard the shouts. 

 

Stannis cursed, snatching his hand back as though the door handle had bitten him. Nearly every word  of the argument could be heard through the door and it was obvious that the disputants were Renly and his on-off boyfriend, Loras, going through their familiar round of accusation and counter-accusation. Stannis cursed his younger brother for an inconsiderate little brat and pondered his next course of action. Many would have expected Stannis to take the attitude that he would not be exiled from his own flat, expecting him to march straight in and to hell with his brother’s discomfiture. However, Stannis knew that Renly would not be embarrassed in the slightest and would certainly feel no compulsion to curtail or censor his argument with Loras. As it was, Stannis knew far too much about their tempestuous relationship for his liking already. 

 

He strode back into the night, wondering where the hell he was going to go, his footsteps turning reflexively back the way he had come, towards the library. 

 

The man was still there, hunched up against the cold, leaning against the flimsy wall of the bus shelter. The street was silent but for the cries of the wind and for the sound of Stannis’ approach, so he raised his head when Stannis drew near. Their eyes met for a moment, and there was a flash of uncertainty in the other man’s face, passing briefly, before the man half-smiled and spoke, his voice hoarse. 

 

“Everything all right?”

 

Later Stannis would wonder what possessed him, ordinarily a private man, to tell this near-stranger the truth. Though his instincts told him that this man was trustworthy and would probably lend a friendly ear, he was not used to acting upon such ambiguous impulses. Perhaps it was because they were entirely alone on the street, or perhaps it was because he was genuinely at a loss for what to do. At any rate his spoke, his tone as bitter as the wind that tugged at his coat and hissed through his hair. 

 

“My brother is convalescing at my flat, evidently he has made himself at home to the extent that he deems it appropriate to have a domestic with his boyfriend there.” 

 

“Ah,” said the man ruefully, and to Stannis’ surprise, grasped the problem immediately, “it’s a puzzle to know where to go at this time of night,” he pulled his coat closer around him, “particularly on a night like this. I don’t suppose you could wait it out in the library?” 

 

“That is not permitted,” said Stannis stiffly, “I suppose I might go to the cinema...”

 

“I wouldn’t,” the man interjected rapidly, and then, seeing Stannis’ surprise, smiled crookedly, “not unless you’re a fan of robot films or cartoons.”

 

“I most certainly am not,” Stannis said emphatically.

 

“I didn’t think so,” he hesitated, glancing at the timetable on the bus stop. “I was just pondering the same thing myself, my bus doesn’t get here for another forty minutes, and I don’t fancy waiting for it out here...I had thought, well, there is a pub around the corner that’s reasonably quiet, and at least it will be warm.” 

 

There was an invitation in there, if Stannis chose to see it, but no attendant pressure on him to decline or accept. It was therefore easy; even for Stannis, who, in the past ten years had only set foot in a pub in order to drag his brothers out, to fall into step with the other man as they walked rapidly down the street. 

 

***

 

“I’m afraid I don’t know your name,” Stannis said as they sat opposite each other in a corner seat. the lamplight reflecting off the rain soaked window beside them and the scent of apples and hops in the air. 

 

“Davos Seaworth,” the other man replied, holding out his hand.

 

“Stannis Baratheon,” he said taking the proffered hand, noting, irrelevantly, that Davos’ grip was warm and firm, with callouses around the fingers and on the edge of his palm that spoke of habitual manual labour. 

 

A brief, not uncomfortable silence fell after these introductions had been made, unusually, Stannis was the first to break it. 

 

“I have seen you in the library quite regularly.”

 

Unaccountably, Davos flushed. “Yes, well, I’m doing a part-time English A-level,” he smiled ruefully down at his hands, “I know it seems rather silly at my age, but I was never much cop at school and I missed out on that sort of thing entirely. So I decided last year that I’d quite like to understand what I was reading for once,” he shrugged, “Anyway, i tend to do most of the work in the library, it’s easier to focus there.”

 

“That’s...admirable,” Stannis said, oddly gratified by the look of surprised pleasure that swept over Davos’ face. “It’s pleasant to see someone using the library for its intended purpose, rather than treating it as just another internet cafe.”

 

Davos chuckled, “well you may have noticed that I tend to come in either during school hours, or later in the evening, when most of the monsters have gone home.” He grinned, “actually, I’m curious as to what you said to that kid who was watching Youtube videos without headphones the other day. I saw you looming over him giving him a vehement talking-to, but I wasn’t able to catch a word.”

 

Stannis glared across the table, “perhaps you should have been concentrating on your studies instead of eavesdropping,” he grimaced inwardly as he said it, the other man would probably take it as a sincere reproof and be offended.

 

Unexpectedly, Davos laughed. “You’re quite right, that was very remiss of me, though in my defence, I was having a dreadful struggle with a composition task and I was desperate for a distraction.” He glanced across the table to Stannis’ drink, which; Stannis noted with some surprise, he had almost entirely consumed while they had been talking. “Another?”

 

“Well yes, I suppose...” Stannis said, glancing at the clock.

 

“My round,” said Davos, taking advantage of Stannis’ momentary distraction to slip out of his seat before Stannis could stop him. 

 

Stannis subsided, and used the opportunity to study Davos as he waited at the bar. He was an unprepossessing man, slight, some inches shorter than Stannis, with mousy, rather unkempt hair, though his beard was kept neat and close-clipped. Despite his slight scruffiness, he had an air of competence about him and his pale eyes seemed at once shrewd and kind. Stannis watched as he carefully threaded his way back through the subdued groups of people, holding their drinks carefully but confidently as he negotiated tables and errant chair-legs. Catching Stannis’ eye, Davos smiled as he neared their table, and Stannis felt the corner of his mouth curve upwards of its own volition. 

 

“So,” Davos began, pushing Stannis’ drink over the table, “how long have you been running the library?”

 

The conversation continued to flow easily for the next fifteen minutes, so pleasantly that it could not last, and Stannis was half expecting the interruption when it came, via the buzzing of his mobile. 

 

Stannis grimaced as he flipped it open and read the text. 

 

_Where the hell are you? Can you get me some wine or something on your way back? Renly_

 

“Duty calls?” Davos enquired. 

 

“I’m afraid so,” Stannis stood up, suddenly awkward, “I still owe you a drink.” He barely suppressed a wince as the words left his mouth, realising it would sound like he was pushing for another meeting.

 

Davos smiled, “well, you can get me one next time then.”

 

_Next time._ Stannis felt a rush of satisfaction that, if he was honest, was probably not entirely due to the alcohol and the radiator next to their seats. 

 

Davos shrugged on his coat, glanced at his watch and cursed, “damn, it looks like I’m going to have to dash.” He grasped Stannis’ hand once again in a brief handshake, before turning and moving swiftly out of the door. Through the window Stannis watched him run, swiftly and assuredly, back down the street towards the bus stop. 

 

He slipped his phone back into his pocket, and with a sardonic quirk of his mouth,left the pub and turned off towards the corner shop, hunching his shoulders against the rain, which had begun to fall in earnest. He consoled himself by deciding to purchase Renly some chamomile tea in place of the requested wine, that ought to teach him a small lesson. 


	3. Rigs of the Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As the editing process has gone pretty smoothly today, I can post two chapters for the price of one. I would like to thank everyone who has commented so far, it's good to know that people are enjoying this. 
> 
> This chapter will establish the plot and I must warn you all that it may contain scenes of local politicians being venal arseholes. 
> 
> This chapter's track is 'Rigs of the Time' as performed by Bellowhead.  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yBE5ovRJQn8

_Now the very best thing that the people could find_

_Is to hold them aloft in a high gale of wind_

_And the wind it will blow and the cloud it will burst_

_And the biggest old rascal come tumbling down first_

 

_Rigs of the Time._ Performed by Bellowhead.  

 

Any residual good humour from Saturday night was severely diminished over the Sunday and had completely evaporated on Monday morning when Stannis opened his email account to find an unread message from Petyr Baelish. He had been forced to correspond with the man for a year now and Stannis was still not sure whether the appointment of that oily, money-grubbing little twerp to the committee in charge of library services had been a direct insult or some kind of twisted joke on the part of Crownlands County Council. At least the message was brief, merely requesting a meeting. Baelish had, thankfully, long ceased to attempt to ingratiate himself with Stannis in a misguided attempt to get closer to Robert. 

 

Stannis fired off a brief reply, stating that he would be available to meet that afternoon. He then swallowed two paracetomol dry as a preventative measure, and with them lingering unpleasantly in his throat, picked up his phone to call the semi-retired Assistant Librarian. 

 

“Cressen!” He barked, mindful of the elderly man’s hearing problems.

 

“Yes?’

 

“You’re in charge today, I have to visit the council offices in Dunskendale.”

 

“Oh no,” the old man sighed, “are they cutting our budget again?”

 

Stannis sniffed angrily, “most likely, or they’ll try and browbeat me into putting ever-more computers in. Soon it’ll just be banks of machines, with a scattering of dross from the Amazon bestseller list to create the illusion that the place still functions as a library.” He then made his brief farewells, threw on his coat and walked resentfully down to the jetty, a headache already blooming in his temples in spite of his attempt to arrest its progress.

 

***

 

“I’m afraid the matter is a little more serious than the cosmetic changes we have previously requested,” Baelish said smoothly, with an air of triumphant sympathy that set Stannis’ teeth on edge.

 

“What do you mean?” Stannis ground out. 

 

“As you know,” here Baelish paused, taking a sip of his tea and swirling it around his mouth as though he wished to savour it, “council funding is in dire straits at the moment. Central government has urged us to halve our spending by next year. Now, we have two options, either we take a little from everything, and everyone loses out. Or, something has to be sacrificed, for the greater good...”

 

“Speak plainly and without attempting to ‘spin’ anything,” Stannis growled.

 

“Very well,” Baelish arched an eyebrow and there was only malice in his expression now. “We have decided that the Dragonstone Library has to be closed.” 

 

For a long while Stannis was silent, staring steadily down at the table as though he had not heard what Petyr had said. Unnerved, the councillor decided to forge on, watching Stannis warily as he did so, there had been rumours about an incident with some leaflets on ‘engagement with the community’ and an ornamental letter-opener owned by Petyr’s predecessor. “It was decided that the Dunskendale services could be extended to cover the Dragonstone community, though it’s also possible that some sort of voluntary mobile-library service could be arranged in the season, when the ferries are regular.” 

 

Stannis looked up, his face livid with fury. “It seems that you have all arranged this very carefully, tell me, has provision been made for my employees?”

 

Baelish waved his hand irritatedly, “Mr Cressen should have retired fully years ago, as for the younger one,” he shrugged, “I’m afraid there are only voluntary positions open at the moment in the other library services.” He leaned forward, smiling, “but I’m sure you won’t have to worry, Robert can easily find another job for you.”

 

Stannis shot up, his chair screeching across the floor, “tell me,” he growled, “did my brother vote on this?”

 

Baelish’s smile widened and grew vicious, “why yes, he put forward the motion himself.” 

 

***

 

The Dunskendale to Dragonstone ferryman had been crossing the channel, every day the weather permitted, for the best part of thirty years. He was therefore well used to carrying Stannis Baratheon back and forth in states ranging from mild irritation to barely concealed fury. This was however, the worst he had ever seen him. As soon as they had left, Stannis had got out of his car to go pacing back and forth on the deck, heedless of the spray. His face was bloodless and his movements were short and erratic. The ferryman was used to the grinding teeth; though he noticed many of the other passengers who had braved the deck wince at the force with which Stannis brought his jaws together. However, this behaviour was not so far outside the norm for Stannis, the truly alarming thing was the way in which his strong, lean hands writhed and twisted in his scarf, as though he were wringing someone’s neck, over and over again. 

 

The ferryman wondered if someone on Dragonstone was running a pool on when Stannis would finally snap and kill someone, and if so, what the buy-in fee would be. 

 

 

***

 

The next day Davos chided himself for the sly feeling of anticipation that uncurled in his stomach as he was blown and buffeted towards the library. The sun, which had been swathed in clouds all day, was making a brief appearance before sinking into the sea, tinting the damp grey cobbles on Castle Road with red. He told himself that there was no guarantee that Stannis would be there, and even if he were, he might be too busy to chat, or not particularly inclined to talk to Davos anyway. 

 

Shaking his head, as much to rid himself of his self-absorption as to dislodge the raindrops in his hair, Davos hefted the wooden revolving door inwards, breathing in the scent of furniture polish and damp coats. Once inside he frowned, something was wrong. There was a palpable air of subdued tension among the sparse readers, and Sam; who was manning the desk, had exchanged his usual expression of mild alarm for one of abject misery. 

 

“What’s wrong lad?” Davos enquired gently as he handed over his returns. 

 

If it were possible, the boy’s face crumpled even more. “They’re going to close the library down,” he muttered. 

 

“What?” Davos cried, horrified, and then, glancing around, lowered his voice, “why?”

 

Sam shrugged, “budget cuts,” he explained dully. 

 

“I see, is there anything that can be done?”

 

Sam hesitated, “we’re not sure,” he glanced over at a poster; hastily typed up and pinned to the noticeboard, “we’re having a meeting about it tonight.” 

 

Davos went over and examined the poster. It briefly summarised what Sam had already told him, before stating that the library would be open an hour later than usual, in order that a meeting might be held to discuss the threat of closure. 

 

“Well I’ll certainly stick around,” said Davos decidedly, “that is, if you think I can be of any help.” 

 

Sam smiled wanly. “Frankly, we’ll be glad enough if anyone turns up.” 

 

***

 

If Stannis was surprised at the number of people who awaited him in the reference section after seven o’clock, then he certainly didn’t show it. Davos wondered where it came from, this mixture of complete self-assurance and a total lack of social graces. The answer quickly occurred to him, as he watched Stannis exchange nods with Catelyn Stark and Jon Arryn, both from long-established families. 

 

Davos shifted in his seat and began to feel out of place among what passed for the island’s elite and the well-heeled second-home owners who had taken the trouble to make the journey over, but Stannis caught his eye, and something about his mouth, which had been tightly compressed, softened slightly, and barely noticeably, his eyes brightened. 

 

It was silly to let such a small, ambiguous gesture warm his heart so, but a rebellious part of Davos’ brain pointed out that no-one else had received a similar mark of favour, so he found himself settling and sitting straighter in his chair, all thoughts of sneaking out gone.  

 

Stannis had the happy knack of encouraging silence through the mere force of his presence, so the gentle chatter quickly faded and an expectant hush fell. Once all was quiet he began. 

 

“If you know enough to be here then there is no need to explain the situation to you. Besides,” and here he cast a look at Catelyn Stark, “I imagine many of you are better-informed anyway. Of course, the attempt to close Dragonstone Library must be stopped.” He said this as though it admitted of no doubt, though he then paused slightly before adding, “the question remains however, how might this be done?” 

 

Taking this as her cue, Catelyn began to speak. “Ned tells me that the vote was rather close, there would certainly be support among various members of the council for having the library declared a community asset.” She saw Stannis’ lip curl at this and sighed, “I know you don’t like it Stannis but if we want to stand a chance we are going to need local support, and publicity beyond the people who use the library regularly...” 

 

Jon Arryn sat forward, steepling his thin hands, his voice dry and precise, “we are also going to need funding to make a successful bid. If we did manage to get the place nominated as a community asset, we’d only have six months to find enough money to purchase the building. That’s not taking into account subsequent costs of upkeep and management, let alone any new acquisitions for the collection.” 

 

An uneasy silence fell on the company as they digested this information, put like this, the task sounded rather daunting. 

 

Nerving himself, Davos cleared his throat, preparing to speak up. “Well, in terms of the practicalities, we can’t start getting support for potential solutions until we let everyone know there’s a problem.” He gestured at the small poster on the notice-board and valiantly attempted to ignore the ring of faces staring at him. “If someone were to sort out the wording of some kind of poster or notice, and the regulations around distributing it outside of the library, I would be happy to get them made up. I teach over in the Further Education College in Maidenpool and I could quite easily get access to their printing facilities.” 

 

Catelyn smiled, “that’s an excellent suggestion and a very kind offer Mr...”

 

“Seaworth,” Davos supplied, rather awkwardly, “and it’s really no trouble.”

 

“Thank you Davos,” Stannis said, with a slight emphasis on the first name, “that will be a useful place to start.” 

 

The rest of the meeting passed in a similar vein, as they fell to outlining the structure and aims of the newly minted Campaign to Save Dragonstone Library. To Davos’ surprise this process took them a full hour and a half and he was glad when it was decided that the meeting would be adjourned once this business was completed. 

 

In the hubbub of leaving, as everyone grabbed coats and bags from chairs and looked speculatively at the windows, wondering if the weather would break, Davos approached Stannis, offering him a piece of paper on which he’d written his email address.

 

“Here,” he said, “if you send me the outline for the poster I can get it sorted for you. Oh, wait,” with a sudden rush of bravado he took back the piece of paper and scrawled his mobile number on it, “you may as well have this too, I sometimes don’t get a chance to check my emails during the day and if you wanted to get a reply quickly...” He trailed off. 

 

“Ah, thank you,” Stannis said, carefully taking out an address book and transcribing the details on the paper into it. This done, Davos decided to take his leave and was heading towards the door when Stannis called out from behind him. “Wait! I should give you my contact details too.” His face was impassive but Davos noted that his hands, normally so precise, fumbled the pen a little as he tore out a page from his notebook and wrote his email address and number on it. 

 

Davos smiled, took the paper, and carefully placed it in the inside pocket of his coat, securing it against the night. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The details of campaigning against library-closures that I have used in this chapter, and which I will subsequently use, are drawn primarily from the website of the Campaign to Save Kensal Rise Library.


	4. Field after Field

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As this is essentially the 'Renly winds everyone up' chapter, it's song is 'Limbo' as performed by Ruth Notman, which really sums up the role his character will play in this story, except for the whole 'spending money on girls' thing, obviously. Alas, I have no video for this track so I'm afraid there is no link attached.

 

 

 

_I am a young lad and my fortune is bad,_  
What riches I had is all plundered;  
I've spent all my money on girls and strong beer,  
And if ever I get rich 't is a wonder.  
It's field after field to market I sent  
Till my land was all gone and my money all spent.  
My heart was so hard I could never repent,  
And 't was that what brought me to Limbo.

 

_Limbo._ Performed by Ruth Notman. 

 

 

Over the next few days they exchanged emails, their contents generally terse and the subjects they discussed practical ones. In their final exchange however, as they arranged to meet so that Davos could show the finished posters to Stannis before the next meeting, the latter sent a little extra query, double-spaced below the main paragraph as though the writer half-wanted it to be overlooked. 

 

_I didn’t know that you taught,_ it read, _what is your subject?_

 

Davos smiled, and replied.

 

_Yes, I am teacher and student all at once. I run the boat-building course, though I also help out with carpentry lessons if they need an extra pair of hands._

 

He received no reply, though this did not trouble him, from the impressions of Stannis Davos was beginning to piece together, this behaviour was hardly surprising. It was unlikely that he would engage in unnecessary conversation via email when they had arranged to meet the next day. 

 

***

 

The island of Dragonstone had a single hill, which was draped with the principal part of the town and crookedly crowned with a grim tooth of a castle that glowered over the main harbour below. Said castle had long ceased to have any administrative purpose, and a large number of its sturdier chambers had been converted into flats. 

 

For Davos it seemed fitting that Stannis would choose to live in one, it was hard to picture his grim, foreboding presence happily situated amidst chrome and plate-glass, or even within the shabby-genteel neoclassical townhouses of Dragonstone’s brief, Regency heyday. This did serve to confirm Davos’ hunch that Stannis’ livliehood was not dependent on his position as librarian, any monetary gain his job conferred was secondary to the pride he took in it, and his evident belief that it was his rightful place. 

 

Climbing up a steep flight of stairs in the main tower, Davos reached a landing, occupied solely by Stannis’ door. Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand and knocked. 

 

“Hold a sec would you?” A cheerful voice cried from within.

 

Davos paused. Well that definitely wasn’t Stannis. 

 

Shortly the door was wrenched open by a fashionably dressed young man on crutches, his hair swept back and his nails neat. It could only have been the younger brother that Stannis had complained of, though the likeness between the two was not great. The younger brother’s colouring was warmer, his movements more graceful even with the hindrance of his ankle and his features sculpted rather than hewn. 

 

“Oh I suppose you’re Davos,” the young man said, with an expression of mildly amused interest, “you’d better come in.” 

 

Davos followed him through the flat gingerly, setting his papers down on the kitchen table. 

 

“Oh I’m Renly by the way,” the other man said, adding unnecessarily, “I’m his brother.”

 

“Pleased to meet you,” Davos said. 

 

At this Renly laughed, “oh _he_ won’t be pleased about it.” He glanced up at the clock, “it’s terribly unlike him to be late, he must have got caught up somewhere.” He grinned, “he’s going to be absolutely _livid,_ he doesn’t like leaving me unsupervised around other people generally, but especially as he’s been all of a twitter over you.”

 

“I’m sorry?” Davos said, incredulous.

 

Renly’s laugh bubbled up again, “well when I say _twitter,_ I mean that he’s mentioned you three times in this past week. I can tell you that’s something of a record, he ordinarily tries to forget that other people exist.” He smirked, “you should be honoured.” Renly glanced over at the sideboard, his eyes alighting on the kettle. “I don’t suppose you could make us a cup of tea could you?” He enquired, gesturing down at his crutches, “at present I find the process difficult.” It was a request, but his tone was supremely confident, as though he couldn’t fathom why anyone would refuse him. 

 

“Of course,” Davos said, welcoming the distraction. He crossed the kitchen to get the milk out of the fridge, his eyes caught by a single photograph that was attached to it. It showed Stannis, some years younger, staring gravely out at the camera. Next to him sat a striking woman with bright red hair and a crimson scarf wrapped nonchalantly around her neck, her face was inscrutable, though there was perhaps a hint of a smile lingering about her mouth and her dark eyes were piercing, even through film and the distance of time. 

 

“Oh that’s Mel,” Renly said, following his gaze, “possibly his only friend, sadly enough. Not his girlfriend though,” he added quickly, “obviously.”

 

_Obviously?_ Davos thought, but he was prevented from making further enquiries as Stannis entered the flat like a thunderbolt, sending the front door slamming into the wall. His face blanched as he took in the scene in the kitchen. 

 

“Hello Davos,” he said warily, “I’m sorry, I was unavoidably delayed, there was a mix-up with a delivery to the school. Have you been here long?”

 

“Worried?” Renly muttered, almost under his breath, and the two brothers shared a long wordless look. Evidently Stannis emerged the victor, as Renly broke their stare first, tossed his head impatiently and stared sulkily out of the window. 

 

“I have only been here for five minutes,” Davos said, and recommenced making the tea.

 

“Here, let me,” Stannis said, and reached fro the teapot at the same time as Davos. Their fingers brushed, and lingered, so briefly that Davos was not sure he hadn’t imagined it. He firmly ordered the flush he could feel creeping up the back of his neck to subside. 

 

***

 

“I brought the finished posters with me,” Davos said, once the tea had been poured.

 

“Ah, excellent,” Stannis said, pulling them towards him so that he could examine them, checking the text carefully for errors. “Yes, these will be acceptable, I’ll arrange their distribution at the next meeting.” 

 

Renly, who had been ostentatiously suppressing a yawn, turned to Davos. “So what exactly do you do Davos?”

 

“Well I teach,” Davos said, “and I build boats.”

 

“Really?” Renly said, suddenly interested. “I went sailing in the Caribbean with this guy once, he had a custom-made boat and it was fantastic...”

 

Stannis snorted, “I doubt the boats that Davos and his students build are anything like those fibre-glass monstrosities your friends like to fool around on...”

 

Renly opened his mouth to object and Davos decided to intervene. “It’s true I generally prefer to use wood and often I have to anyway if it’s a restoration job, though obviously, I do teach people how to use other materials if they so choose.” 

 

Stannis sniffed, making his opinion of those that would do so clear, and Davos hastened to steer the conversation into safer waters. “What was the delivery mix up about?” He asked Stannis. 

 

Renly groaned, but Stannis flashed that almost-smile again. “A package of books was due to be sent to the Dragonstone Book Club, whose choice of reading matter this month is Aldous Huxley’s _Brave New World_ , which, though a classic of English literature, is probably not appropriate to be sent to the Primary school in place of their usual selection. 

 

Davos chuckled, “no, I can imagine a few of the parents complaining if that had gone ahead.”

 

“It could have been worse,” Stannis added, “apparently some members of the book-club wanted to read _something by Georgette Heyer,_ ” his lip curled, “but I told them in no uncertain terms that if they wanted to read that drivel they could find their own copies.” 

 

Renly rolled his eyes, “of course you did.” 

 

Stannis’ brow furrowed at his brother’s interjection, and; not wishing to get caught up in fraternal warfare, Davos glanced at his watch and made noises about leaving.

 

“Of course,” Stannis said, rising from the table.

 

“Oh no!” Renly interjected. “No you must stay for dinner Davos, we’ll end up killing each other if you don’t!”

 

“Don’t be melodramatic Renly,” Stannis chided, “I’m sure Davos has better things to do than to referee our disputes.” He glanced apologetically up at Davos, but there was just the slightest hint of disappointment in his expression, enough at any rate to give Davos pause. 

 

“Well I can stay, if it’s not too much trouble,” he said tentatively. 

 

Renly’s reaction was enthusiastic, but it was Stannis’ face that Davos watched, and the way the line of his mouth softened, ever so slightly, once more. 

 

***

 

Stannis had wondered whether the other night might have been a fluke, but, even with the constant irritant of Renly’s presence, there was a ease to talking with Davos that he had rarely, if ever, experienced before. So it was with regret that Stannis saw him out of the door later that evening, a regret that would have existed even without the dread of dealing with his brother once Davos had gone. 

 

“That,” the aforesaid irritant said, from his position slouched across the sofa, “was perfectly adorable.” 

 

Stannis sighed, “I feared you were going to start insinuating things...”

 

Renly snorted, “it wasn’t as though you didn’t give me any material. Since when have you been interested in boat-building hmmm? And from whence did your enthusiasm for the purity of working with wood as opposed to ‘that vile fibre-glass’ come?” 

 

“If the drama of your own life does not leave you replete, kindly restrain yourself from meddling in my affairs at least,” Stannis grumbled, placing the cutlery into the dishwasher. 

 

“He clocked that photo of you and Mel pretty quick,” Renly said, “you should have seen his face fall. He’s not much of an actor your Davos.” 

 

Before Stannis could protest the possessive prefix Renly continued, “don’t worry, I put him right. I reckon you’re going to have to make the first move though, he’s attracted to you sure, but a little scared of you at the same time,” he grinned, “which is pretty kinky when you think about it...”

 

“Kindly don’t,” Stannis snapped, retreating to the sanctuary of his bedroom. He needed to think. 

 


	5. Blackthorn Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so the 'two updates a day' streak continues. I can't promise a similar rate of production tomorrow as I reckon the next chapter will need a lot more editing, but we'll see how it goes. 
> 
> In this chapter my head canon Marya appears as I'm very fond of her. (Anyone who runs a place called Cape Wrath has to be awesome in my view.) 
> 
> The song for this chapter reflects its climate rather than its content. It is 'Blackthorn Winter' by Sproatly Smith, and this time I do have a video. (I must warn people that the video does contain images of naked hippies, nothing explicit, just 'Wicker Man' style nudity.)
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TsFLnaIQtaw

_From the frost a spring has sprung_

_Now the winter has begun_

 

_Blackthorn Winter._ Sproatly Smith. 

 

On Sunday Davos awoke to a steady fall of snow, heavy enough to coat the grey harbour mud, rather than to be dissolved into it. This was deeply unusual weather for Dragonstone, whose maritime climate usually meant that the snows of the mainland passed it by. Grateful that he had possessed the foresight to purchase some extra bottles of gas, which would be useful if the roads grew impassable, Davos curled deeper under the covers, only reaching out to grab his phone. 

 

Marya answered after the fourth ring, rather breathlessly, she had evidently not used the weather as an excuse to stay in bed. “Hello?”

 

“Ah good, your phonelines haven’t gone down again,” Davos replied, “that’s impressive, usually Cape Wrath goes completely incommunicado this time of year.”

 

“Stop exaggerating,” Marya said warmly, then, speaking to someone else on her end of the line, “Yes it’s uncle Davos, no, I’m speaking to him, you can have a word in a minute. Go and see about getting those logs in.” She returned to the call, a smile in her voice. “There’ll be a queue forming in a minute, Matthos will want to regale you with his latest poem and then I’m sure Stefan will subject you to an interrogation as to how your solar-panels are working.” 

 

Davos laughed, “well they’re under several inches of snow at the moment, so I won’t have much to report.” 

 

“It’s snowing out your way?”

 

“Yes, it’s quite unusual, but then it’s been a pretty bitter winter all round so far.”

 

“And yet you don’t sound much the worse for it, in fact, you sound a lot more cheerful than the last time you called.” 

 

Davos frowned, “I sounded low?”

 

“No, just, apathetic I suppose. So what’s been happening lately to get you going again?”

 

Davos briefly outlined the nascent library campaign, to which Marya reacted with characteristic positivity. He then steered the conversation back to the affairs of the small, self-sufficient community of which Marya and her two adopted sons were members. He was reassured, that true to their promise, the twins were carefully maintaining the little sailing dinghy he had built and presented to them on their last birthday. Taking comfort from the details of her life Davos kept the flow going, asking questions and prompting her for more information. 

 

Marya was however, no fool, and after giving a detailed account of their successful purchase of some more woodland, she paused, and then, amusement clear in her voice, enquired, “So, have you been sufficiently reassured now?” 

 

“Pardon?” Davos enquired.

 

“Oh come on, I’ve come to expect the ‘I need to make sure that Marya is happy and that I didn’t ruin her life’ call by now. After all, it has happened on a yearly basis for the past nineteen years.”

 

Davos sighed, “you’re right, I probably need to start dealing with this myself rather than constantly requiring you to bolster me. I’m sorry.”

 

Marya huffed impatiently “You’re my best friend Davos, as far as I’m aware, mutual emotional support is part of that deal. So we’re going to go through the mantra again. 

 

“There’s really no need.”

 

“No, come on, it’s call and response time. I’ll start. So, in a fit of madness, we got married when we were eighteen, which..?”

 

“...Was far too young.” Davos replied.

 

“And..?”

 

“We were much better off as friends.”

 

“So we divorced with indecent haste....But?”

 

“But we’re still family.” Davos grinned, “much to the dismay of your parents.”

 

Marya laughed, “and that can only ever be a good thing. Now, do I need to get Matthos and Stefan to reaffirm this? Or can I start ferreting around to find out what brought this on? You normally only do this if you’re going through a self-flagellating phase., but as I said, you sounded pretty happy when we started talking...Oh...” Her voice turned gleeful, “You’ve met someone haven’t you?”

 

“Well...”

 

“You have! What’s his, or her, name? How long have you been seeing them?”

 

“Look I haven’t been ‘seeing’ anyone. I happen to have met a man for a drink, and then we had dinner...But that was only because his brother threw his toys out of the pram.”

 

“I see you’ve already met the family. Fast work, Davos, fast work.”

 

“No, that was only because his brother was staying at his flat.”

 

“And what were you doing in his flat hmmm. I hope a chaperone was present?”

 

“Oh stop it, I was just dropping off some materials for the campaign.” 

 

“Aha!” Marya exclaimed, “so he’s one of the campaign members then, well you’ve only mentioned one by his first name, so it must be ‘Stannis’.”

 

Davos groaned, “I’m going to cut this conversation short before I have no secrets left.” 

 

Marya laughed, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry, but it’s been a long time since you’ve had someone, you can’t blame me for being interested.”

 

“I don’t ‘have’ someone now,” Davos said gently, “yes I find Stannis appealing, but nothing we have done so far falls outside the bounds of friendship.”

 

“Does it feel like friendship to you?”

 

“Well no, but I’m not sure if that’s only because Stannis doesn’t seem the type to have friends.” 

 

“Well that’s a ringing endorsement...”

 

“No! He’s a good man, that’s obvious. I think he just keeps himself to himself, and he’s not especially approachable...”

 

“You appear to have managed it, but then you’ve always been quite good at that.”

 

“I’m not sure whether that was due more to the force of circumstance rather than the effects of my scintillating personality.” 

 

“Well you know there’s one way to make sure.”

 

“I have a feeling I know what is coming.”

 

“Unambiguously ask him out.”

 

“Oh no, I hate doing that,” Davos moaned.

 

Marya snorted, “and well I know it! I still vividly remember you collapsing at my feet and bleeding all over my shoes. You were just lucky I have a compulsion to take care of people, otherwise I would have dumped you at A&E and gone back to the party, rather than marrying you. I’m sorry Davos, but I don’t think that trick’s going to work a second time.” 

 

Davos had to pause a moment to digest the mental images and to bring his laughter under control. After that their conversation veered off into its usual course of long established jokes, and, his ear burning, Davos finally hung up after the phone had been passed around what seemed to be the entire population of the commune. 

 

It had given him food for thought though, and as he pulled on his boots, ready to trek into the town for the campaign meeting, Davos decided that; as ever, Marya was right. It would be much better to clear things up now, rather than to fall into the patterns of friendship, which, however rewarding they might be, were not entirely what he wanted. He would be brave, it would be dishonest to be anything else. 

 

***

 

By contrast, Stannis’ morning was entirely silent. Renly was never an early riser, and now, with the excuse of convalescence, he refused to stir before noon. The presence of his brothers normally excited a simple longing for solitude in Stannis, but this time the feeling was more nuanced. It had been pleasant to have Davos sitting at his table, it would have been pleasanter still without Renly’s inane prattle disturbing them both. 

 

Stannis had little practice in these matters, but he was aware that his desire for Davos’ company, and Davos’ company alone was not something that could be defined as a simple feeling of friendship. The only honest thing to be done was to speak out, it was easy enough to accept this in principle and it would therefore be hypocritical not to take action accordingly, though Stannis had to admit that the prospect of doing so was a little unnerving. Neither of his brothers had any difficulties in arranging these matters, even; in Robert’s case, with the supposedly insurmountable obstacles of a wife and child, however, Stannis had neither their talent for flirtation, nor indeed, did he desire a casual connection like the ones they pursued, with Davos. 

 

This might all be moot anyway, Stannis slammed the door open and, glancing at the treacherous black ice on the street, pulled on his winter boots, heedless of rousing his brother. Davos was kind, he would not mock, nor would he gossip, but there was no guarantee that he would have any interest whatsoever in drawing any closer than he had done. It was better to ask now and get the whole damn business out of the way. 

 

***

 

The snow had been thicker than Davos had bargained for, so the meeting was on the point of starting when he slipped apologetically into his seat, wincing as the snow on his boots began to melt and drip onto the carpet. Fortunately, he was not the last to arrive, a tall, awkward woman in a similar state of disarray followed him in, shooting him a rueful look as she took the last remaining seat. 

 

The meeting passed in a blur, Davos could at best, only devote half his attention to proceedings, the rest absorbed with worrying about how to approach Stannis. He was alert enough to note that Stannis also seemed more tense than usual, snapping at Catelyn, who took the outburst calmly in her stride. As the meeting drew to a close Davos became wholly absorbed with devising pretexts to detain Stannis after everyone had left, though what he would say to him then, he hadn’t the faintest clue. 

 

So absorbed was he that he that it was only when the woman next to him tapped him on the arm that he realised she was trying to get his attention. 

 

“Oh I’m sorry...”

 

“No it’s fine, it’s just that the strap of my bag is caught around your chair-leg...”

 

“Oh of course, I’ll just move it, sorry I was miles away...”

 

She smiled, “that’s no problem...Oh, my name’s Brienne by the way.”

 

“Davos,” he replied, shaking her hand. He spared a glance up to see if Stannis was still around, only to start when he saw that he was not only present, but was looming over them with a visible air of impatience. 

 

***

 

Stannis cursed as he saw Davos get sucked in to the cloud of small-talk that was enveloping the committee now that their business was complete. He had seen Davos come in, flushed and bedraggled, with snowflakes clinging to his beard, and he knew that if he did not intervene soon, someone would be sure to offer him a lift, which would ruin all of Stannis’ plans. 

 

Davos looked a little surprised as Stannis made his presence felt, but at least the girl had the wits to make herself scarce, retreating to the safe haven of the circle around Catelyn Stark and leaving them alone. 

 

Without preamble Stannis began, “the snow is falling more heavily now, you shouldn’t walk back. I will give you a lift home.” 

 

Mercifully, Davos recognised that this was not up for debate, further, Stannis had either descended finally into self-delusion, or there was an air of nervous eagerness about him as he accepted. 

 

They were silent as Stannis locked the doors of the library and they walked the short distance to his car. Once inside, Davos made as if to speak, but Stannis, wishing to speak and have done, raised his hand in a request for quiet. 

 

“I have something to ask you.”

 

“Oh?” Davos enquired.

 

“Yes...I have enjoyed spending time with you...Indeed I would quite like to repeat the experience, if you were so inclined, without either of us having to run for buses or deal with interruptions from Renly, that is.” 

 

Davos eyes widened, and then he smiled, widely and unrestrainedly. The effect this had upon his face; Stannis noted, rather dazedly, was quite transformative. Still smiling, Davos confessed, “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

 

Stannis experienced a burst of satisfaction on hearing this, but still felt the need to press his point. “You do realise the ah, nature of my request...” He paused, struggling for an appropriate phrase. 

 

Thankfully Davos intervened, brushing his fingers very lightly over the back of Stannis’ hand. “I do understand, and I would be glad to...Did you have any particular day in mind?” 

 

Taking refuge in practicalities Stannis nodded, “I thought perhaps Thursday evening? I don’t know how late you stay over in Maidenpool, would eight give you enough time?”

 

Davos nodded, “eight on Thursday will be fine.”

 

They lapsed into a comfortable, somewhat relieved silence on the drive towards Davos’ home, content to watch the quiet, white-flecked world drift slowly by. As they neared their destination Stannis began to pay more attention to things other than the road ahead, his curiosity piqued. 

 

There were two natural harbours on Dragonstone, the one immediately below the town and the other just along the coast. Some who had seen the island from above claimed, rather irreverently, that this gave it the appearance of a biscuit from which someone had taken a bite. The second harbour, being deeper and more sheltered, had acquired a small fleet of houseboats in varying states of repair. Davos’ boat was a particularly fine example. Though its hull was made of metal, the upper cabin was fashioned from wood, much of it painted a bright, fresh blue. The roof and much of the deck was coated with snow, but even without this Stannis could tell that the boat was neat and carefully maintained. 

 

Stannis pulled up alongside the harbour wall and Davos hesitated, glancing out of the windscreen.

 

“It’s getting dark and the snow’s worsening. Will you be alright getting back? You’re welcome to wait it out here, if you want.”

 

For a minute Stannis was sorely tempted. “No, I must get back to Renly, if he’s awake, that is.”

 

Davos smiled. “Alright but, could you text me or something once you’re back? Just to let me know you didn’t have any problems on the road...”

 

Stannis, unaccustomed to being the recipient of concern, managed a rather awkward nod, and made his parting rather quicker than he would have liked, aware of the uncomfortable compulsion to say or do something that might have proved embarrassing. 

 

***

 

Exactly fifteen minutes later Davos heard his phone buzz. Opening it he found a single text, which he read, smiling far more than its terse contents would seem to warrant. 

 

_I have arrived safely. Renly is awake (alas). I look forward to Thursday. S._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, Davos' houseboat is based on one which I have always coveted at the mouth of the Adur, by Shoreham-by-Sea, which has the dubious honour of being my birthplace.


	6. Things Around Me Stir

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The track for this chapter is 'Winter Dies' by Midlake, which is veering away from the trad-folk trend previously established. (The choice of song may be a tad over-optimistic.) 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tmxyZtrYx0E

  _As the spring is made alive the winter dies_

_And the final cries of creatures are long behind_

_And full of spirit the village starts again_

_With one more year for a man to change his ways_

 

_Winter Dies:_ Midlake

 

 

Thursday dawned with a rush of water, as the temperature rose a few crucial degrees, allowing the snow to melt. It ran in rivulets down Davos’ roof, collecting at the edges and falling in fat mirrored drops onto his windows, illuminated by the fitful sun. It was a false spring, and Davos knew it, but still he wished he could stay on the island and spend the day checking if the deck needed revarnishing or the cabin repainting. However, he pulled on his coat and walked out to the ferry, anxiously assessing the conditions as he went. The wind was still sharp, coming in from the north-east, but it was not strong enough to cause Davos to fret that he might get stranded on the mainland. 

 

This did not stop him from pacing back and forth on the ferry, badgering the old ferryman for his thoughts on whether the wind would grow high later in the day.

 

***

 

The island of Dragonstone was not overburdened with places to eat out, even in the season most of the visitors stayed in rented cottages and cooked for themselves, and throughout the rest of the year most of the islanders hunkered down and conserved their resources. There was therefore only a single restaurant, a rather stuffy affair in the island’s main hotel, most people preferred to eat in the simpler surroundings of The Smuggler’s Rest. 

 

Davos knew the place well, he was a regular at the folk club and he had helped Maege strip back the ratty, beer-stained carpet and clean up the floorboards beneath when the Mormonts had taken the place over. Tonight however, he hesitated before going in, hovering in the doorway among the discarded wellingtons and umbrellas. He was a full five minutes early, but there was still a chance that Stannis might have got there before him. 

 

As it was, he was the first to arrive, so he propped himself up against the bar and tried not to glance over to the doorway every five seconds. 

“You’re looking uncharacteristically sharp tonight Davos, special occasion?” Maege asked from behind the bar, while effortlessly rolling a keg of Dragon’s Blood into place and hooking the valve up to the pump. 

 

Davos tugged nervously at the collar of his shirt and smiled wryly, “I’m meeting someone, I thought I ought to make a bit more effort than usual.”

 

Maege huffed with amusement, but mercifully chose not to make any further comment, though Davos did notice that her eyebrows shot up when Stannis walked in, making a beeline for Davos with his familiar air of brusque indifference. He spared a smile for Davos and they ordered rapidly, almost as an afterthought, and retreated to a table by the window where they could talk in peace.  

 

The effects of perception were remarkably strong, Davos reflected during a brief ebb in their conversation. He had obviously been attracted to Stannis, but now that they were in a context that could only be defined as a ‘date’ it seemed that his mind had been set free to focus on the justifications for that attraction. Stannis’ features were severe, but there was a certain clean, ascetic grace to them, there was nothing to distract the eye, the flesh that covered his bones was sufficient to its purpose and nothing more. True, there were faint shadows beneath his eyes and in the hollows of his cheeks, and lines of unhappiness and care on his forehead, but they served only to make Davos itch to take Stannis’ face in his hands, not to wipe them away, but to soothe them, if only for a little while. There were other things too, that drew the eye, the strong line of his shoulders, the tendency of the hair on the back of his head to stick out like ruffled feathers and his long-fingered hands, which, despite Stannis’ efforts to control them, always ended up acting as a secondary voice, gesturing, emphasising... _beckoning,_ Davos thought, and flushed at it. 

 

Davos firmly forced his mind back into other channels, knowing that it would be best not to mention even the most innocuous aspects of this aloud, at this stage at least. He had an instinct that, for all Stannis’ confidence, this was one thing that might throw him off balance. 

 

***

 

Being used to visiting restaurants in the company of his family, and therefore remaining in a constant state of enraged embarrassment, Stannis was pleasantly surprised at how enjoyable a meal with someone else could be. Their conversation was absorbing and uncharacteristically, Stannis frequently became entirely unaware of his surroundings, forgetting everything beyond their small, lamplit table . Of course, it was unlike his family to ever leave him entirely alone and, between courses, Stannis felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He ignored it until Davos went back to the bar, then quickly flipped open the screen. 

 

Unsurprisingly, it was from Renly. 

 

_Hi bro, everything going alright? ;) Renly_

 

Stannis rolled his eyes, and pointedly refrained from answering. 

 

The wind had dropped as they left the pub and they stood for a moment on the harbour wall, the great whispering blackness of the sea before them. It was too cold to linger, though Stannis was struck by the deeply unfamiliar desire to prolong the evening as much as possible. 

 

He cleared his throat, feeling unaccountably nervous once more, “it seems a little late for you to be walking back. I should be under the limit now, I can give you a lift if we go and get my car-keys from the flat first.” He winced internally as he said it, would Davos think it was some kind of pretext?

 

Davos smiled, “of course, thanks very much.” 

 

The walk back was made in silence, which Stannis gradually relaxed into. Away from the waterfront the wind was more subdued though the air was still cold, and they walked carefully, as the pavements were still icy in patches. Davos was not wearing gloves and had left his hands out of his pockets to aid his balance and Stannis had to violently suppress the urge to take hold of them in an attempt to lessen the chill. 

 

Despite his best efforts there was still a certain sense of anticipation in Stannis’ throat, which grew as they climbed the winding, stone stairs to his landing. Once outside his door they paused, Stannis forgetting for a moment, to search for the keys to his flat. 

 

Davos was some inches shorter, but it would still be very easy to reach him, if he were only to lean forward a little. It seemed such a small distance to travel with Davos’ face upturned and lit by the moon, a faint smile playing about his lips. His expression was open and legible in the cold light and Stannis could read a welcome in it, if he were to take the chance that he had comprehended it aright. Unconsciously he wetted his lips and began to sway forward. 

 

A loud groan came from the inside of Stannis’ flat. 

 

***

 

Stannis jerked away like a scalded cat and Davos bit back a curse. They fell silent, listening carefully. 

 

“Do you think something’s wrong?” Davos asked quietly.

 

The answer came, not from Stannis, who remained silent, but again from within the flat.

 

“Fuck yes, Loras, right there...” A voice, unmistakably Renly’s, moaned. 

 

Davos glanced over to see Stannis practically vibrating with rage, his teeth grinding together and his knuckles white.

 

“No,” Stannis bit out, “it seems that my brother is in perfect health.” 

 

Another series of moans emanated from behind the door and Stannis slammed his hand against it, not that those behind it seemed to notice, before turning on his heel and storming back down the stairs, Davos hastening after him. 

 

Amidst his concern, Davos was rather impressed at Stannis’ ability to rigidly observe every precept of the Highway Code while simultaneously repressing homicidal rage. Needless to say, the drive back to his houseboat was conducted in silence, Stannis furiously grinding his teeth and Davos miserably hoping that their evening, and by extension, their burgeoning, fragile connection, had not been irrevocably tainted. 

 

As they drew up alongside his jetty Davos decided that something had to be said. “Stannis..” He began.

 

“I must apologise,” Stannis said stiffly, cutting Davos off, “Renly’s behaviour is all the more regrettable in that you had to be subjected to it.”

 

Davos sighed, “I am not so easily shocked Stannis, I am however, concerned about where you intend to go.” 

 

Evidently this was a question for which Stannis was unprepared, “I do not know...” he said eventually, “I suppose I might remain in my car for a little while,” he said, his voice creaking and choked with humiliation. 

 

“You could stay here,” Davos said tentatively, then hurried to explain himself, “I have an extra cabin.” He struggled for some form of words that would make the proposal acceptable to Stannis. “I don’t see why you should have to spend the night in the cold because your brother is a terrible houseguest.” 

 

Stannis relaxed a little at these words. “I would not wish to impose upon you,” he said. The words were over-formal but the concern behind them was genuine. 

 

Davos smiled. “I would be happier with you aboard,” he said simply.

 

Unable, and unwilling to object to that, Stannis nodded his acceptance. 

 

***

 

Even his still-burning anger could not quite dampen Stannis’ curiosity and he quickly surveyed Davos’ houseboat as he was led down from the deck. He had feared that it might be cramped, but despite the fact that his head only narrowly avoided brushing the ceiling, the space did not seem too confined. It had the air of completeness common to spaces that had been carefully crafted to suit the needs of a single personality, everything arranged to perfectly fit the pattern of Davos’ life. Davos evidently had a predilection for pale wood and undyed wool, with the occasional splash of colour and exoticism, a Lyseni puppet, or a drinking cup from Bear Island, fashioned of wood and bone, that spoke of time spent traveling. It was by no means as tidy as Stannis’ flat, or at least, as neat as it had been before Renly arrived, but Stannis found he liked it nonetheless. In truth, he was a little alarmed that the things that should, and did annoy him when associated with anyone else, seemed neutral or actively attractive when connected to Davos. This either suggested that Davos had unnatural levels of charisma, or, more plausibly, that he was becoming dangerously biased. 

 

While Stannis was examining his surroundings, Davos busied himself, briefly setting up the spare cabin and making tea. He watched Stannis carefully, noting that his frown was beginning to edge back from ‘contemplating murder’ towards its default level of severity. He handed Stannis a mug and sat across from him at his small kitchen table, inviting, but not expecting conversation. In truth, he was surprised when Stannis began to speak. 

 

“I have always suspected that Renly has very little respect for me, but having him stay with me has confirmed it. I was not as prepared for it as I had thought, especially as it turned out like some farcical replay of the night we met...”

 

The rest was unspoken but Davos could read Stannis’ wounded pride in the harsh, unyielding line of his shoulders. Aware that something had to be said he leaned forward, catching Stannis’ gaze and holding it. 

 

“I do not think that your brother’s behaviour reflects upon anyone save himself.”

 

Stannis snorted, “you do not think that it is weak of me to allow him to drive me from my home? You are a generous man Davos, but even you must see some fault in that.”

 

“He is your brother Stannis, and a grown man. You may reason with him, but you cannot command him. His thoughtlessness is therefore his own...” Davos hesitated, wondering if he had gone too far. “I have not known you long, but already I find it hard to conceive of you doing anything that could make me think ill of you. Certainly it would be ridiculous of me to find fault with you due to the actions of your brother.” 

 

Stannis was silent, frowning down at the table, but Davos flattered himself that he was at least considering his words. 

 

Suddenly feeling very tired Davos rose heavily from his seat.

 

“I am for bed,” he said gently. “There’s still tea in the pot if you want some more.”

 

“Oh,” Stannis said, “goodnight.” 

 

He glanced up, and there was a thread of concern in his eyes. It tugged at Davos, whose caution was already worn low by weariness. Ceding to the impulse he bent downwards, brushing his fingers along the bones of Stannis’ cheek and pressing a kiss; as brief and rasping as snow, on the furrowed arch of Stannis’ brow.

 

“Goodnight Stannis,” he said, and left without another word. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I'm sorry Stannis, and it was going so well too! Never mind things will improve, *glances at the drafts of the next two chapters,* ok, you might have to wait a little while longer... I realise I have used 'Renly is a terrible houseguest' as a plot device twice so far, I do apologise, it won't happen again.


	7. With The Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a double update for you all today as this chapter is mainly setting things up for the following one. 
> 
> I am drawing my information about the rules and regulations surrounding public meetings and leafleting from the Liberty website. http://www.yourrights.org.uk/yourrights/the-right-of-peaceful-protest/meetings-and-picketing.html I am not sure if the regulations would ever be enforced in this way in practice, but I am expanding upon a theoretical possibility for the purposes of this narrative.
> 
> This chapter's track is 'Sea Song' by Rachel Unthank and the Winterset. 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gozagpzqGaA

_You look different every time you come_

_from the foam-crested brine_

_It's your skin shining softly in the moonlight_

_Partly fish, parly porpoise, partly baby sperm whale_

_Am I yours? Are you mine to play with?_

 

_Sea Song._ Rachel Unthank and the Winterset. 

 

The next morning Stannis felt uncharacteristically serene, like the blanched sand after an overnight squall. This was probably due to waking up with the gentle whispers and creaks of Davos’ houseboat around him and the smell of freshly brewed coffee bleeding through from the galley. 

 

It may have also had something to do with the incredibly satisfying diatribe to which he had  subjected Renly when he had arrived back at his flat, topped with a demand that Renly, who was evidently recovered, go back to his own flat on the mainland as soon as possible. 

Stannis had particularly enjoyed the look of enraged befuddlement on his brother’s face when he had announced his presence by upending the sofa upon which Renly was dozing. 

 

This mood lasted until midday, much to Sam’s alarm. But when his email chimed to reveal a new message from Councillor Varys it sizzled briefly and dissolved, like blood on heated iron, leaving a similar acrid taste in Stannis’ mouth. 

 

Unlike Baelish, Varys had always been too astute to try to appease Stannis, so his email was brief and to the point. 

 

_Dear Mr Baratheon._

 

_It has come to my attention that you have recently held a series of public meetings in Dragonstone Library. While you are perfectly within your rights to do so, I must request that in future the Council be informed of any such meetings and that a duly nominated observer be free to attend, in order to ensure that the terms and conditions for the use of the premises are observed. Further, I would request that you remove all posters pertaining to the subject of a ‘Campaign to Save Dragonstone Library’ from display within the Library building, as you have not secured permission from the Council to display them in the aforesaid area._

 

_Regards._

 

_Varys._

 

Halfway through reading this email Stannis was already mentally composing several replies, their projected contents ranging from mild sarcasm to outright belligerence, it was therefore with a superhuman effort of will that he forwarded the email to Catelyn and Jon, rather than responding straight away. 

 

Less than a minute after he had done so he received a rather urgent reply.

 

_If you haven’t responded to this already, don’t. We’ll draft a reply later._

 

_Catelyn._

 

_P.S. Let me know if you have responded so that I can do some damage-control._

 

Jon was only a little slower in responding. 

 

_If I know Varys, his threat to monitor us is not an idle one. It may be best to find another location for our meetings. Do you have any suggestions?_

 

_J.A._

 

Stannis frowned, even without the presence of Renly his flat would be too small, though it might have to do in a pinch. Aggrieved, and thwarted in his desire to respond to Varys in the way he wished, he decided to indulge himself and forwarded the email to Davos. 

 

Davos’ reply took longer, but it was both more satisfying and, as Stannis noted with satisfaction, was also the most useful of the three. 

 

_Bastards. Luckily Maege Mormont owes me a favour. I don’t think there’d be much objection among the committee members to us holding our next meeting in a pub._

 

_Davos._

 

***

 

Stannis eyed the landlord of _The Smuggler’s Rest_ sternly. “You can confirm that you are the owner of these premises?”

 

“Do I have to fetch up the deeds and all?” Maege asked sarcastically. 

 

“That won’t be necessary,” Stannis waved a dismissive hand. “You can also confirm that you give us permission to hold a meeting here?”

 

“Aye but I’m starting to repent of it,” she shot Davos; who was leaning on the bar with a distinct air of amusement, a baleful look. “Are Alysane and I allowed to sit in on the meeting or is that against regulations?” 

 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Davos smiled and they wandered over to help set up the chairs. Whether by accident or design, the two they chose were set very close together, so that, in order to avoid a general tangle of limbs and chair-legs, they had to sit with their ankles pressed together. 

 

Stannis frowned and leaned forward, calling the meeting to order. 

 

The first item under discussion was the intervention on the part of the council. Stannis had forwarded the email to all the members of the committee, fielding responses of varying levels of outrage. One of the most prevalent responses had been the desire to publicise the machinations of the council, and this option was mooted publicly by Jon Snow, a close friend of Sam’s who regularly hung around the library, checking out large piles of books on survival in the wilderness, with the odd Jane Austen novel carefully concealed among them. 

 

Jon Arryn shook his head at his suggestion, “I don’t think that is a good idea, it might involve us leaking details of a supposedly private communication...”

 

He went on to give an outline of the specific legal problems, but Stannis found himself unaccountably distracted. This may have been due to the fact that Davos had leaned forward too, listening attentively to what Jon was saying. The effect of this was that their calves were now pressed together, knees knocking. It was warm in the pub and Davos had taken off his fleece and rolled the sleeves of the shirt he wore underneath up to the elbow. In the warm glow of the lamps the sparse hair on his forearms looked golden. Stannis idly wondered if it would be soft to the touch before blinking hard, and redoubling his attention on the discussion, which had now moved onto a debate over the organisation of a public demonstration. 

 

It was to no avail. Stannis would follow a thread of discussion and then Davos would interject or be asked a question. At this slightest of impetuses Stannis’ eyes would be drawn back to the man beside him, carrying away a new, disconcerting revelation each time. 

 

He had not considered Davos’ hair in much detail before, beyond registering its general colour, but his attention was now drawn to the sparse strands of gold amidst the thick brown hair at his temples. His eyes tracked over to the fine laughter-lines beside his eyes and down to the shadow of his throat, half-revealed by his open shirt collar. As if this were not bad enough, the evidence of his eyes, whose powers he had never doubted before, no longer seemed sufficient. His hands itched to follow the path of his gaze, to confirm all that he saw through touch. 

 

Belatedly, Stannis realised he was staring. He glanced up quickly to see if anyone had noticed. Fortunately the majority of the committee were deep in a debate over whether any planned protest should be held on Dragonstone or outside the council offices on the mainland. 

 

Relieved, Stannis turned back towards Davos, only to catch the other man’s eyes, which were fixed upon his face. Davos looked stricken for a moment, and his cheeks flushed as he quickly glanced away and leaned forward to listen to the discussion of the wording on placards with exaggerated attention.

 

_Good,_ Stannis thought, rather savagely, _I’m not the only one in this ridiculous situation._ He briefly wondered whether it would be a good idea to move seats, but that would both draw unnecessary attention, and, more importantly, the thought of Davos sitting next to someone else was intolerable. 

 

Willpower, that was the answer. Stannis focused with renewed intensity on the course of debate. It was fortunate that he did, for the discussion had taken an acrimonious turn. 

 

Catelyn was staring balefully at Jon Snow, who was leaning forward to argue a point, running his hand irritatedly through his hair.

 

“Look, I know you have doubts, but we have photographic evidence! Ygritte snapped Roose Bolton going into Baelish’s house, she says he was there for hours!”

 

Stannis frowned, “who is Ygritte?”

 

“A friend of of mine.” Jon answered.

 

“One of Mance Rayder’s little activists,” Catelyn said dryly.

 

Jon flushed and opened his mouth to respond, but Davos got in first, raising a pacifying hand.

 

“Sorry if this seems a foolish question, but before we continue, who is Roose Bolton?”

 

Seeming grateful for the distraction Jon Arryn answered. “Roose Bolton is a businessman with a rather questionable reputation. He has somehow contrived to be awarded the contract for the new leisure centre at Harrenhal. It is to be a ‘public-private partnership’ apparently, which as far as I can see, involves the council pouring money into the infrastructure that would support this little venture on the frankly rather specious premise that it will provide ‘economic regeneration’. Though how building some giant monolith out in the middle of nowhere is going to help the surrounding towns I cannot fathom.” 

 

Davos frowned, “I assume that this project is not subject to the same ‘budget cuts’?”

 

Jon nodded grimly, “it’s ring-fenced yes.”

 

“That does seem rather dodgy.”

 

“Yes but not illegal,” Jon turned to his younger namesake, “Jon, while it is useful to know that Baelish and Bolton are in cahoots, they are perfectly free to socialise together. Unless we can find evidence of money changing hands then I’m afraid there’s little we can do.”

 

Stannis snorted, “I doubt we’ll be able to find anything, Bolton’s wriggled out of a fraud conviction before. He’s clearly a criminal and the Council shouldn’t be associating with him.”

 

Had Stannis glanced behind him at this point he might have seen a shadow pass over Davos’ face. As it was, he did not, and Davos presented a facade of untroubled interest when Jon Arryn next spoke.

 

“Be that as it may, we have no evidence, and unless we find some, we cannot afford to become distracted by this. We should focus on more pressing matters” 

 

Jon Snow glared mulishly out at the assembled company, obviously intending to do no such thing, but he refrained from saying anything more. 

 

After this the meeting began to break up, and Stannis reached down to untangle his bag from the chair, his hand brushing Davos’ as he did so. At this small touch Davos looked up and smiled, his eyes warm.

 

“I was wondering,” he said, “whether you were doing anything tomorrow night? If you fancy trekking out to my houseboat I could make you dinner.” 

 

Stannis allowed himself to briefly imagine it, the curtains closed against the night, Davos’ quiet voice and kind face across the table. “I cannot,” he said reluctantly, “I must suffer through lunch at Robert’s every month and Saturday is the appointed day. I will then probably have to spend much of the evening recovering from the ordeal and will therefore not be fit company. Would Sunday be acceptable?”

 

“Yes,” Davos said, without any pause for thought. “Sunday is fine.” 


	8. Crossing the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this is the 'why the Baratheons should never be allowed to be in the same room at the same time' chapter. 
> 
> I must include a trigger warning here. Amidst his general awfulness, Robert does indulge in a few homophobic remarks, because he's pretty much an unmitigated arsehole in this fic. 
> 
> The song for this chapter is 'The Circle Grows' by Seth Lakeman, which probably sums up most of the family dynamics in Westeros. 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MrmEX5K_kWU

_Father and Son,_

_Like a bullet to a gun_

_Born to blood,_

_In the scars of love_

 

 _The Circle Grows._ Seth Lakeman. 

 

In the end Stannis did not have to wait until Sunday to see Davos after all, though this was not by design, however fervently he might have wished for it. 

 

There had been a time, some years ago, when Melisandre had become deeply interested in meditation and had attempted to teach him some of the techniques. In the end she had despaired of him, as apparently mediation amounted to more than merely ‘sitting angrily on the floor for half an hour.’ However, Stannis was nothing if not persistent and he attempted to employ some of the supposedly calming breathing techniques as he drove down the King’s Landing. 

 

Needless to say, they didn’t work. 

 

After stoically enduring the usual gridlock at the Iron Gate and pissing off most of the other drivers by refusing to break the speed limit up the Street of Sisters, Stannis pulled up outside his older brother’s house and slammed his car door shut with slightly more force than necessary. 

 

“I see someone’s looking forward to spending the evening in the bosom of their family,” Renly called softly from the porch, where he was shivering into his thin jacket, cupping his hands around a cigarette. 

 

Stannis frowned, “I thought you’d given up?”

 

“Oh I have, I just have the odd one on special occasions. I’d recommend it Stannis, it’s wonderful for getting you out of the house. I’ve been freezing my arse off out here for the past five minutes waiting for you to turn up, you realise that they’re both half-cut already? I’m not dealing with that shit on my own.”

 

“I don’t know where you got the idea that I’m your ally in this Renly.” Stannis growled, shouldering past him. 

 

“Oh come on, you can’t still be pissed off about the other night!” Renly complained. “I thought you’d be out all night! You know, like a normal person.” 

 

Stannis whirled around and hissed, “some of us don’t fall into bed with people as soon as bloody possible Renly.”

 

Renly sneered, “oh, so you freaked out then? I suppose it has been a long time...Or did he give you the brush off?” Leaving Stannis no opportunity to answer, he ground his cigarette butt beneath his boot-heel and kicked the door open. “Robert!” He cried, “the miserable arsehole has arrived!”

 

“Oh fuck,” Robert poked his head out of the front room, his cheeks already red and mottled with wine. “Stannis, you look like a wet weekend, as ever. Here, have a drink for fuck’s sake.” He glared, “we’ll eat when Cersei’s finished mollycoddling Joffrey, apparently she needs to call him every bloody minute of the day ‘just to check he’s alright’.

 

Stannis briefly considered turning on his heel and escaping back into the night, but instead he clenched his jaw and accepted the glass Robert thrust at him, not bothering to examine, nor sample its contents.

 

***

 

As Stannis had expected, the first attack came, bare minutes after they had sat down, and was primarily concerned with the fate of Dragonstone Library.

 

“So,” Robert said, smiling patronisingly, “how’s your little campaign going then?” He laughed at Stannis’ answering glare, “oh we know all about it, don’t you worry. I told them that you wouldn’t slink off quietly. It’s all quite useless, of course. How many people do you reckon you get through your doors each day? I bet it’s nowhere near triple figures.” He puffed his chest out self-importantly, “no, you’ll have to accept it, we can’t keep throwing money away on providing a safe-haven for eccentrics and time-wasters,” he chuckled, “and that’s just the staff!” 

 

Renly and Cersei turned their heads towards Stannis, after the fashion of bored Roman patricians wondering if the gladiator will put up much of a fight against the lion. 

 

Stannis ground his teeth. “How much of that little speech have you taken from the spiel Baelish fed you at the Council meeting? It doesn’t appear to have convinced Ned Stark much though...”

 

“That frigid cow Catelyn has got herself involved in Stannis’ campaign,” Cersei informed Robert, taking a nonchalant swallow of her wine.” 

 

“Don’t you talk about Ned’s wife like that!” Robert hissed at her, almost purple with rage.

 

“Oh I’m sorry,” Cersei sneered, her composure barely slipping, “I wasn’t aware Caesar’s wife was out of bounds too...”

 

It appeared that the evening was going to fall into its familiar pattern of Stannis and Renly being the unwilling audience of the latest episode of Robert and Cersei’s marital strife. However, Renly, evidently still needled by Stannis’ refusal to forgive him, intervened, and once more brought Robert’s attention down on his brother’s beleaguered head. 

 

“Well Stannis’ campaign has been good for something,” he remarked, “did you know that he’s finally managed to get himself a boyfriend because of it?”

 

“What?!” Robert exclaimed, incredulous, “what’s the poor fool’s name?”

 

“Davos,” Stannis said through gritted teeth, shooting Renly a glare of an intensity that should have flayed the flesh off of his bones. 

 

“Davos eh?” Robert said, “so what’s his problem then?”

 

“I beg your pardon?” Stannis said, with such venom that even Cersei began to watch the exchange with interest, obviously hoping for an outbreak of physical violence.

 

“Well he’s either got to be an idiot or have some other kind of issue if he can’t do better than you!” Robert bellowed with laughter, “perhaps he’s deaf and blind!” He chuckled at his own joke for a while before enquiring, “How long has it been going on then?”

 

Stannis forced himself to unclench his hands from around the cutlery and decided to ignore the earlier part of Robert’s remarks. “We have only known each other for a couple of weeks,” he said reluctantly. 

 

“Oh so maybe he just hasn’t seen sense yet! Or he’s still working out a way to get shot of you!” Robert cried, vastly amused. 

 

Obviously feeling a belated sense of guilt, Renly interjected. “He seems a nice enough bloke...”

 

Robert leaned back in his chair, his eyes malevolent. “Oh I wondered when your ‘solidarity’ would come into play.” He shook his head in disgust. “Gods, what did I do to deserve a pair of nancies for brothers eh?” He gestured at Renly, slopping wine over the rim of his glass as he did so, “you are of no earthly use to anyone except your hairdresser, and you!” He turned on Stannis, “at least you’ve got some brains, though you’re too stiff-necked to employ them in any useful way. It’s a bloody good job that library of yours is closing down! You won’t have an excuse to hole yourself up there anymore!” 

 

As the stem of Stannis’ glass cracked under the pressure of his hand, he decided that it was time to go. 

 

“Well,” he said, scraping his chair backwards, “now that you’ve made your feelings quite clear, I think it’s time I took my leave.”

 

As he stalked out into the hallway he heard Robert calling merrily from the dining room. “See you next time Stannis! Maybe you can bring your boyfriend! If he’s still around, that is...”

 

***

 

Stannis drove back to Dragonstone on autopilot, and he stayed in his car throughout the ferry-trip, clenching and unclenching his hands about the wheel and trying to regulate his breathing.  It was only when he was almost at the harbour that he realised he had bypassed Dragonstone town entirely and was making his way towards Davos’ houseboat. 

 

He cursed, and considered turning back, but he was feeling uncharacteristically weak-willed and he found himself exiting the car anyway, hovering uncertainly on Davos’ deck. 

 

***

 

Davos heard a car approach his jetty and, thankful for the distraction, listened carefully. He had spent the afternoon laboriously going through his students’ cost-projections for their final projects, assessing whether they stood up to scrutiny.  His mind was however, frequently far from his task, constantly flying back to the subject of Stannis Baratheon. 

 

It had become moderately obvious that Stannis had a difficult relationship with Renly, and from the little Stannis had spoken about his older brother, Davos reckoned his rapport with Robert was equally fraught. He had evidently not relished that prospect of having lunch with his family and though Davos wasn’t sure his concern would be welcome, he worried nonetheless. 

 

Davos frowned, five minutes had passed and though he had dimly registered the sound of the car door opening and closing and someone walking out of it, there had been no sound of footsteps echoing down the path, nor had the car driven off again. He stood up and walked over to the door of his cabin, opening it carefully. 

 

Outside stood Stannis, looking chilled to the bone, misery clear in every line of his body.

 

“Stannis!” Davos gasped, “I thought you were in King’s Landing...”

 

“I left early,” Stannis said hoarsely, then, visibly pulling himself together, “I am dreadfully sorry for disturbing you, I cannot think what came over me...”

 

Davos moved swiftly up onto the deck, laying a firm hand on Stannis’ arm. “Don’t you dare,” he said sternly, “you know you’re always welcome here. Come in, you look half frozen.”

 

If Stannis’ general appearance hadn’t been enough to concern Davos, his mute acquiescence would certainly have rung alarm bells. Sitting Stannis down, Davos busied himself with brewing tea, wondering what the best way to deal with Stannis’ obvious distress was. 

 

Stannis found the answer for him as he began to speak, absently, as if half to himself, and Davos resolved to remain silent. 

 

“Robert is always, difficult, and he’s vicious when he’s drunk,” Stannis said. “I knew that he would be bad today. I was expecting to get a lot of stick about the library, Robert can’t bear it when people don’t go along with his plans. But then Renly,” he paused, his face twisted with anger, “Renly had to mention you, and of course, Robert couldn’t resist...” 

 

He fell silent, hands clenched around the arms of his chair and Davos leaned silently against the counter, the tea forgotten, feeling sick to his stomach.

 

Eventually Stannis began again, his voice softer. “I was prepared for their _surprise,_ I know that my unsociability is deeply amusing to them. But he kept speculating that there was something wrong with _you,_ because otherwise why would you spend time with me?” He glanced up at Stannis, his eyes burning, “I couldn’t bear it...” 

 

With bile in his throat, Davos crossed to Stannis’ chair, wrapping his hands, perhaps too firmly, around Stannis’. “They’re wrong.” He hissed, “how could they...?” He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. “You are a good man,” he began hoarsely, “and I like you very much. If they can’t see that, if all they can do is ridicule you, then there’s something wrong with _them._ ”

 

Davos had meant to retreat, to let Stannis collect himself. But Stannis’ face was so transfigured by shock, made so uncharacteristically open by his utter surprise that Davos could not resist. He brought his right hand up, resting it along the line of Stannis’ cheek and leaned in, pressing their mouths together. 

 

Stannis stilled, his body rigid with shock, and Davos saw that his eyes were wide as he carefully pulled away. Davos was about to move further back, concerned that he had made a mistake, but then Stannis' hand came up to grasp the back of his neck, as unyielding as iron. He pulled Davos’ face back down, almost biting at his mouth, and Davos pressed back, seeking to gentle their kiss, to make it less desperate. 

 

Stannis gasped harshly at this and brought his hands up to frame Davos’ face, holding him there. This left Davos twisted into an awkward half-crouch, one knee resting on the edge of Stannis’ chair, the other bent behind him, pushing up from the floor. All of this could not detract from the triumph he could feel, rising like fire in his throat and chest. 

 

Abruptly, the kettle whistled from the stove and Stannis jerked back, his eyes wild.

 

He took in Davos’ awkward stance and winced. “I am so sorry, I...”

 

Silently Davos moved the kettle from off the heat and held his hand out to Stannis. After a moment’s hesitation the other man took if, wrapping his long fingers securely around Davos’ wrist. 

 

Davos moved to sit on his small, two-seater sofa, bringing Stannis down alongside him. He ran his hands along Stannis’ shoulders, trying, and failing, to prevent his touch from becoming greedy. He glanced up at Stannis to see that all his previous uncertainty had fled. His face was all decision as he pulled Davos in to kiss him once again. 

 

This time, Davos let his lips part and Stannis unhesitatingly slipped his tongue into Davos’ mouth. He anchored his hands in Davos’ hair as he brushed his tongue against Davos’, mapping his mouth with precision and intent. 

 

Davos could not suppress a moan as Stannis twisted them so that Davos was pressed against the back of the sofa, and Stannis gave a small, satisfied hum in response. He could feel Stannis experimenting, gauging his response to a harder swipe of his tongue, a faint bite on his lower lip. 

 

As time passed, they both grew a little bolder, and caresses began to creep below collars and around waists. Davos was aware that this would be as far as it would go that night, but his body had not come to a similar realisation. This became obvious as Stannis maneuvered him so that he was practically lying on the sofa, with Stannis looming over him. 

 

Davos heard an intake of breath as Stannis pulled back. Though he was wary of Stannis’ reaction he also nursed a quiet sense of satisfaction as he looked up, Stannis hair was sticking up in all directions, his cheekbones were splashed with hectic spots of colour and his eyes were hooded, and so dark as to be almost black. However, that faint furrow of uncertainty had returned, hovering over his brow. 

 

Davos smiled reassuringly and ran his thumb gently over Stannis’ eyebrow. “You’re welcome to use the spare cabin again,” he said, his voice warm and hoarse. 

 

To his satisfaction he saw Stannis give a faint shudder at the sound, though he paid him back in turn when he next spoke, his voice similarly wrecked. 

 

“I would like to stay...” he said, frowning unhappily in the direction of his car.

 

Davos gently titled his face back towards him. 

 

“I want you to stay,” he said, simply.

 

At this Stannis’ face cleared and he nodded decisively, before levering himself up off the sofa, extending a hand to Davos.

 

Davos was aware that he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t summon the energy or the will to stop. 

 


	9. Washing In The River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know that we had that Brief Moment of Heartwarming at the end of the last chapter? Yeah, prepare yourselves for some Davos Angst. (God it's difficult to write, it's like leaving your dog outside a shop and catching a glance of the utter desolation in their eyes through the window while you guiltily pay for your newspaper.) 
> 
> Also, I spent an unreasonable amount of time coming up with email addresses for all the characters. This is dedication people. 
> 
> The song for this chapter is 'Barton Hollow' by The Civil Wars. 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ooTyuRd9zSg

_Ain't going back to Barton Hollow_

_Devil gonna follow me 'ever I go_

_Won't do me no good, washing in the river_

_Can't no preacher man save my soul_

 

 _Barton Hollow._ The Civil Wars.

 

 

 

Davos had renovated his houseboat himself, he had spent an entire summer with the sun bleaching his hair and the wood warm beneath his hands, learning its every corner and creak. He was therefore keenly aware of the subtle difference in its atmosphere when it held two people instead of one. If the change was particularly noticeable this morning, if the air seemed somehow warmer and the faint noises from the direction of the second cabin particularly noticeable, Davos was sensible enough to know that this was entirely subjective. 

 

Nevertheless, it was a pleasant feeling and Davos would have liked to have luxuriated in it for a little while longer, but as ever, practical concerns impelled him into action. Stannis had obviously driven straight from the mainland the night before, he would want a shower and some clothes. Davos sifted carefully through his drawers, eventually finding a t-shirt that had always been very loose about his shoulders. Of course, it also happened to be one he had purchased at the Crownlands Folk Festival several years ago, but that really couldn’t be helped. Davos hesitated for a moment before shoving a spare pair of boxers on the pile, covered with a towel and an extra toothbrush. 

 

Hearing stirring from the other cabin, he went over and knocked on the door. After a brief moment, in which a faint scrabbling of clothing could be heard, Stannis opened it, to Davos’ great disappointment dressed exactly as he had been the night before. if his clothes were creased, Davos was however, pleased to see that his forehead was less troubled and the shadows beneath his eyes had retreated somewhat. He handed the pile of material over wordlessly, his heart jumping as Stannis’ hand pressed his, and lingered. 

 

***

 

Of course, his peace was soon broken, as not minutes after Stannis had left, tugging at the collar of Davos’ t-shirt in a faintly nonplussed fashion, his phone started ringing, shrill and insistent. Half tempted not to answer it, Davos glanced down and groaned as he saw the number on the display. It was no use, this particular caller would just keep ringing and ringing. 

 

 _“_ You bastard, you’ve been holding out on me.”

 

Davos grimaced, “hello Sal.”

 

“Don’t you ‘hello’ me, you secretive git. How come I had to learn about your boyfriend from Marya?”

 

Davos sighed, “look, that is no longer going to work. I know you aren’t actually upset, you’re just trying to guilt me into giving you more information.”

 

“Fine,” Sal quickly jettisoned his aggrieved tone and Davos could practically hear him moving into his ‘interrogation pose’ on the other end of the line. “How long has this been going on?”

 

“Two weeks...” Davos said, astonished that it had been so short a time. 

 

“Hmmm,” on the other end of the line Sal subsided a little, before continuing, his voice matter-of-fact, “so, have you fucked yet?”

 

“Seven hells Sal!” Davos spluttered “that’s really none of your business!”

 

“Ah so you haven’t then,” Sal continued, sounding supremely unruffled, “I would ask if it were serious or not, but you have a history of marrying your friends, you don’t really do casual relationships.” 

 

Davos had to concede that point.

 

“So,” Sal said, his voice growing serious, “what does he know?”

 

Davos tensed, “about what?”

 

“You know what I’m talking about Davos. How much have you told him about yourself?”

 

Davos didn’t answer, slumping down onto the sofa, his mouth dry.

 

“Shit,” Sal murmured, “you’ve told him precisely nothing haven’t you?”

 

“No,” Davos said hoarsely, “gods, I haven’t have I? And I know all about his family...”

 

“Hey Davos,” Sal said, his tone gentler, laced with an edge of worry, “it’s fine, I mean, obviously it’s not something you want to talk about to just anyone, but he’s got to find out, and it’s much better if he does so sooner rather than later.”

 

The last part of this was lost to Davos, unheard through the roaring in his ears. He had been keeping this small fear at the back of his mind, muffled by his joy at reaching out to Stannis and seeing the man respond, tentatively at first, but with increased confidence. Now Sal had dragged it forward, struggling into the light, and his heart failed him as he examined it. Davos was dimly aware of Sal, his voice sharp, saying “Davos, Davos!” as he put the phone down, entirely absorbed in turning his problem over and examining it from every angle. There was no getting away from it, much as it nauseated him.  

 

Sal was right, Stannis would have to be told, and soon, and Davos wasn’t sure if their still-fragile connection would withstand all that would follow. 

 

_***_

 

By contrast, Stannis returned to his flat in a strange mood, at once restless but somehow, light. He paced a quick circle around his kitchen, wishing for perhaps the first time, that there was someone he could safely call, to whom he could talk about this sudden, astonishing change. 

 

There was however an equally satisfying, if less immediately gratifying option. Stannis pulled out his pen and notepad and sat down at his table to write. 

 

 

_Melisandre,_

 

_You may be surprised to receive two letters from me in quick succession and without an intervening reply from you, but for once, there is a great deal to tell._

 

_They are trying to close the Library down, making the usual excuses for doing so. In retrospect, I should have expected this, the only decent man on the Council is Ned Stark, and his influence over Robert has waned recently. However, I believe the problem stems from far above Robert, I can detect the hand of Tywin Lannister behind this, after all, our ‘eminent’ MP has somehow contrived to make himself Chancellor of the Exchequer, he would be expected to take the lead in implementing the ‘necessary cuts’ in his own constituency._

 

_I am fighting it of course, and I have not been without allies, though many are over-cautious and the rest are young and lack focus. You are more experienced in these matters than I, I would have your advice, either through correspondence, or, better still, in person. Can you return?_

 

_I do have some other news, though I can scarce believe in it even as I write it. There is a man, I met him through the campaign. No, in truth I met him the day before this mess started and he persisted in the acquaintance, for what reasons I cannot fathom, though I would dearly like to know in order to continue to replicate them. At any rate we have been spending a great deal of time together and I find his company a great deal more than pleasant. His name is Davos Seaworth, I hope you will meet him soon._

 

_Travel safely._

 

_Stannis._

 

 

_***_

 

Following this it seemed that everyone felt the impulse of correspondence, as Monday passed by, borne on a flood of emails. 

 

 

From: [j.arryn@arrynandpartners.co.wes](mailto:j.arryn@arrynandpartners.co.wes).   

 

To: [stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes](mailto:stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes), [catelyn.stark@winterfell.sch.wes.](mailto:catelyn.stark@winterfell.sch.uk)

 

Subject: Prospective protest.

 

Further to our discussion of Wednesday night over the time and venue of the proposed march, I have been in touch with campaigners over in Maidenpool and Storm’s End. They are keen to coordinate with us and they are confident that they can assemble significant numbers. It would perhaps be best therefore to combine with them in a larger march, perhaps taking place in King’s Landing? 

 

Regards.

 

JA

 

From: [stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes](mailto:stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes). 

 

To: [j.arryn@arrynandpartners.co.wes](mailto:j.arryn@arrynandpartners.co.wes), [catelyn.stark@winterfell.sch.wes.](mailto:catelyn.stark@winterfell.sch.uk) [davos.seaworth@mpfec.ac.wes](mailto:davos.seaworth@Maidenpoolfec.ac.wes), 

 

Re: Prospective protest.

 

Can we be assured that these other campaigners share our aims? I do not wish to become associated with mere dilettantes. 

 

I have forwarded your previous email to Davos. I would appreciate it if you included him in all subsequent discussions.

 

Stannis. 

 

 

From: [j.arryn@arrynandpartners.co.wes](mailto:j.arryn@arrynandpartners.co.wes).

 

To: [stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes](mailto:stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes), [catelyn.stark@winterfell.sch.wes.](mailto:catelyn.stark@winterfell.sch.uk) [davos.seaworth@mpfec.ac.wes](mailto:davos.seaworth@Maidenpoolfec.ac.wes),

 

Re: Prospective protest.

 

I can assure you that Beric Dondarrion is a very serious man, and I have a high opinion of his honesty and dedication. 

 

However, you will doubtless wish to vet him further, here are the websites for both the relevant campaigns, [www.savemaidenpoollibrary.co.wes](http://www.savemaidenpoollibrary.co.wes), [www.stormsendcampaign.co.wes](http://www.stormsendcampaign.co.wes), 

 

I really think it would be advisable to make as great an impact on the march as possible, and for that we will need numbers Stannis. 

 

Regards.

 

JA

 

P.S. Apologies Davos for not including you in the last email, it was an oversight that will not reoccur. 

 

From: [davos.seaworth@mpfec.ac.wes](mailto:davos.seaworth@mpfec.ac.wes),

 

To: [stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes](mailto:stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes), 

 

Subject: Other campaigns.

 

Stannis.

 

I thought I should email you privately first, otherwise Jon will jump on this and start nagging you again. I have been speaking to some of the other teachers at Maidenpool FEC, many of them are involved in the library campaign there, both due to personal investment and because many see it as the first step on a slippery slope, with Further Education being the next obvious target. At any rate, I reckon if we did organise a large march, we could muster quite a number of people from among the teaching staff and students here. 

 

What do you think?

 

Davos. 

 

 

From: [stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes](mailto:stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes),

 

To: [davos.seaworth@mpfec.ac.wes](mailto:davos.seaworth@mpfec.ac.wes),

 

Subject: Other campaigns.

 

Davos. 

 

Email the others and tell them what you have just told me. Arryn is a pompous ass but in this instance, alas, he is right. 

 

As an aside, will you be free tomorrow night? The balance of hospitality has weighed rather heavily on you so far, I would like to remedy that, if you are willing. Perhaps dinner at my flat (mercifully sans Renly) at seven?

 

Stannis. 

 

 

From: [davos.seaworth@mpfec.ac.wes](mailto:davos.seaworth@mpfec.ac.wes),

 

To: [stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes](mailto:stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes), 

 

Subject: Other campaigns.

 

I’ll be there.

 

Davos. 

 

***

 

_Meanwhile, somewhere in the region of Asshai..._

 

Melisandre was too seasoned a traveller to obsessively follow only ‘local’ customs when passing through any given place. So, when she stumbled upon a Myrish coffee-house, of all things; on the trail along The Saffron Straits, she yielded to the whimsy of it and decided to stop there for a while. Her decision was sealed when she discovered that it doubled as an internet cafe. After taking a table that caught as much of the faint arid breeze as possible and fluently rattling off her order she adjusted the shawl over her bright red hair and pulled the two travel-worn letters out of her backpack. An old friend had fortuitously caught her in Jinqi, just before she had got itchy feet and had decided to travel onwards, and had handed them over to her. 

 

She stretched her legs out beneath the table and examined them once again, the smooth blankness of her forehead uncharacteristically ruffled. Making a decision she leaned over to the computer and opened up her email account, rapidly typing up two messages. 

 

 

From: [redmel@rmail.co.wes](mailto:redmel@gmail.co.wes). 

 

To: [thorosofmyr@rmail.co.wes](mailto:thorosofmyr@gmail.co.wes). 

 

Subject: Info.

 

Thoros,

 

I need you to make yourself useful for once. You’re still hanging around the Crownlands yes? I need to know everything about the threat to Dragonstone Library. 

 

I also need you to do a complete sweep on a man called Davos Seaworth, use all your sources. You know the drill. 

 

Melisandre. 

 

 

From: [redmel@rmail.co.wes](mailto:redmel@rmail.co.wes).

 

To: [halfman@cstlyrock.co.wes](mailto:halfman@cstlyrock.co.wes).

 

Subject: Info

 

I need the latest dirt on Crownlands County Council. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tread on any toes that you weren’t planning on trampling anyway. I’ll make it worth your while.

 

M. 

 

 

After sending these messages she paused for a moment, before pulling her credit card out of her concealed inside pocket and calling up a last-minute air-travel website. If she moved quickly she could probably make it back to Asshai airport in the next few days. 

 


	10. Here We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid, angst-wise, we're not out of the woods yet. But here have a protest march to make things a little better. 
> 
> The track for this chapter is 'Out of Babel' by The Destroyers.
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WmDdl2401xw

_Sunlit dreams reflect on glass_

_A blaze of colour as we go past_

_A carnival of cable_

_A jazzy funky fable_

_We go_

 

 _Out of Babel._ The Destroyers. 

 

Rather naively Davos had thought that organising a protest merely involved deciding on a particular time and place, painting a couple of placards and mentioning it to a few friends, trusting the grapevine to do the rest of the work. Instead he had found himself sitting in caffeine-fueled meetings that lasted long into the evening, in which other campaigns were negotiated with, legalities were checked and re-checked, press releases were drafted and solemn promises extracted from the more radical members of the campaign that they would behave in an orderly fashion at all times. 

 

Not that he was complaining, even when it meant that he frequently ended up getting off the ferry, covered with ink and sawdust, and going straight to Stannis’ flat, which had been adopted as a headquarters for the smaller organisational meetings. It was worth it when Stannis’ hand carefully cupped his knee under the table while Jon Arryn droned on, when Stannis began to blithely assume that Davos would remain after the rest had gone, setting two places for dinner as though it were inevitable, no longer up for discussion. It was even better when their hands would falter and clash while clearing away the dishes and Stannis’ face would grow surpassingly serious as he brought his palms up to frame Davos’ face, his movements increasingly assured, less desperate, no longer restrained by the fear that Davos might flinch from his touch or vanish into thin air. 

 

The only flaw was the repeated texts from Sal, all variations of the same message, like a cold breath on the back of his neck.

 

_Have you told him yet?_

 

In retrospect, Davos really should have seen it coming. 

 

***

 

On the morning of the protest they came clattering down to the ferry in a bright cavalcade of boots and garishly painted signs, Stannis stiff and incongruous at their head. On the ferry they milled about the deck, even the older members of the campaign uncharacteristically excited. On the other side of the water Maege had stationed a coach that she had apparently ‘got from a mate’. It did at least look road-worthy, if a little scuffed around the edges, the paint on it bleached by years of sun. When they reached it Stannis stationed himself squarely in front of the door, looking at the assembled campaigners with narrowed eyes. 

 

“Right, we’re going to do a placard check,” he said. 

 

Davos heard muffled swearing and scuffling from behind him and smirked. Seeing a faint answering glimmer of amusement in Stannis’ eyes, he stepped forward, presenting his sign meekly.

 

Stannis examined it carefully, “this appears to be in order,” he said, in his loftiest tone, staring down at Davos with a manner that was almost regal. 

 

Davos said nothing in reply, only letting a little bit of heat seep into his gaze, enough for Stannis to notice, and to make his eyes widen a little. 

 

Davos suppressed a grin and swung nimbly up into the coach, settling down near the front and listening with amusement to the progress of Stannis’ inspection. 

 

“Obscene. I presume Jon put you up to this, Sam.”

 

“Libelous, and worse, misspelled in two places Ms Mormont. I’m afraid I’ll have to confiscate this.”

 

“Anatomically impossible, though the copperplate script is a nice touch Mr Snow.”

 

“I must confess I am surprised at you Ms Tarth. Oh I see. Well in future it is probably best not to accept Jaime Lannister’s assistance in this matter, or indeed in any other.” 

 

Eventually they all boarded the coach, Stannis sliding gracelessly down next to Davos, outwardly unmoved but, to Davos’ keen senses, bleeding satisfaction. He gave Davos a quick glance out of the corner of his eye before reaching down between them, lacing their fingers together. 

 

Davos tried and failed to suppress a grin, and he leaned back into his seat, pressing their legs together as, from outside the window, they watched the sun climb higher in the sky, pale and clear. 

 

***

 

In the chaos of meeting and mingling with the other campaign groups just outside the centre of King’s Landing, Davos felt a hand grasp his arm. He turned, expecting to field an enquiry or listen to a complaint, only to come face to face with his oldest friend, whose interpretation of ‘appropriate protest clothing’ appeared to include tie-dye kaftans. 

 

“Sal!” he exclaimed.

 

“Don’t sound so dismayed,” Sal grinned, “I’m here to swell your ranks.”

 

Davos snorted, “and to assuage your curiosity.” 

 

“That too,” Sal shrugged, then turned to eye the crowd speculatively, “So, which one is he? No, wait, I bet I will be able to guess...”

 

“Sal...”

 

“No, too old...too young....hmm, he’s a possibility,” Sal’s eyes rested on Beric Dondarrion for a minute, before he shook his head, dismissing him, “no, closer to your type, but too conventionally dashing. Ok, I’m excluding everyone who could possibly be described as either handsome or stylish, which still leaves a significant number, horrifyingly enough. Right, you’ve always had a thing for stern, forbidding types so...” Catching sight of Stannis, Sal smiled, “Aha, ill-fitting jumper, face like granite, looking at everyone like he wants to vapourise them...I think we have a winner.”

 

“Enough Sal,” Davos said, amused despite himself, “yes, that is Stannis. I’d introduce you, but I fear you won’t be able to behave yourself.”

 

“Damn,” Sal said, almost under his breath. “I was hoping it wasn’t going to be him.”

 

Davos frowned, a little offended, “why?”

 

Sal turned back to face Davos, and his eyes were uncharacteristically serious, “because, while I’m sure he has many sterling qualities, he doesn’t really look like the understanding type.” He studied Davos’ face closely, “you haven’t told him anything yet have you? For heaven’s sake Davos...”

 

“Davos!” Stannis called out, his voice sharp. 

 

Davos glared at Sal, “I’ll talk to him in my own time so not a word from you!” He then grabbed Sal by the cuff and dragged him over to where Stannis and the other committee members were waiting. 

 

***

 

Had he been a little less rattled, Davos would have derived much more amusement from the meeting of Stannis and Sal. It was a relatively cordial one, both men were striving to be polite for Davos’ sake while manfully suppressing both their mutual incomprehension and a faint sense of horror. It was rather like seeing two members of alien species attempting to make contact, with inadequate translation technology and vastly differing cultural expectations on vital matters like appropriate clothing and personal space. 

 

After Sal had drifted of to variously flirt with and annoy the other members of the campaign  Davos approached Stannis, who was still looking rather shellshocked. 

 

Davos leaned companionably against Stannis, “so that’s Sal,” he remarked, amusement plain in his voice.

 

“Yes,” said Stannis, “he claims to be your oldest friend.”

 

“That’s about right, I’ve known him since I was fifteen at any rate.”

 

“Ah, he appears to be wearing glittery eyeliner, I assume that’s not unusual practice for him?.”

 

Davos chuckled, “that’s nothing.” He was about to recount an episode of one of Sal’s wilder flights of sartorial fancy, when he was interrupted by Catelyn, who was calling them over so that the march could begin. 

 

Davos was rather busy with positioning his placard, so he failed to see the look of faint disappointment on Stannis’ face. 

 

***

 

The day passed by, prompting a strange mixture of weariness and elation in Davos. The protesters chanted, laughed and sang, jostling each other and launching various impromptu stratagems to keep Jon away from the megaphone. The support they gained from the passers by was encouraging, a petition had been drawn up and was passed around, and by the end of the day it was covered with signatures. 

 

Some however, remained sceptical. “It isn’t enough,” Jon said gloomily to Davos as they trudged back towards the coach. 

 

“You know nothing Jon Snow,” said a fierce-looking red-haired girl who walked beside them, with the air of someone who had repeated the phrase often. 

 

Jon scowled down at his boots. “I wish you would stop saying that,” he grumbled. 

 

***

 

Later, Davos would wish that he had yielded to the temptation to slip away quietly from the group with Stannis after they had returned to Dragonstone. Instead, he had watched Stannis moving among the other campaigners, sternly discussing one thing or another with Beric or Catelyn, and had allowed Sal to take his arm, wandering down to The Smuggler’s Rest with the rest of them. 

 

The campaigners were in a jubilant mood and someone kept buying rounds of drinks, pressing glasses into Davos’ hands. So it was that he rapidly became somewhat tipsy, as much on the heat and the camaraderie as the, admittedly potent, cider. Easing away from the increasingly surreal raillery at the bar he searched muzzily for Stannis, locating him at last at a table in the corner where Sal, Catelyn, Beric and Jon Snow sat. 

 

They were deep in conversation, and the flow did not cease as Davos pulled up a stool, leaning against Stannis, and feeling the reassuring pressure of his hand, warm against his back. He tried to focus on the conversation, Jon and Catelyn were disputing something, but the frostiness that occasionally attended their disagreements was absent. 

 

“No Jon,” Catelyn said, sounding almost fond in her exasperation, “you can’t break into Baelish’s house to look for ‘evidence’, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but that kind of behaviour is illegal.” 

 

“Ah,” said Sal, his voice slightly slurred, “but that only matters if you get caught.” He grinned up at Davos, “at least, that’s what you used to say.” 

 

Davos felt Stannis stiffen slightly and he grimaced. 

 

“People say a lot of stupid things when they’re young,” he said, slipping a warning into his voice. 

 

Sal continued, idly, as though he hadn’t spoken, “but then, you did eventually get caught, so I suppose that gives you a slightly different perspective...”

 

Davos felt the blood drain from his face taking the feeling of well-being he had been basking in only seconds before, with it. He pulled away from Stannis, who had grown as unyielding as iron against his side and Sal jerked his head up, suddenly aware that he had gone too far. 

 

“What I mean to say...” Sal began clumsily, but Davos interrupted him.

 

“Excuse me, I’m just, going outside...” he said, knowing how feeble it sounded even as he said it. He grabbed his coat, and he could not, would not, look at Stannis’ face, for the gods knew what he would find there. Somehow he made it through the crowded bar and out, and there, finally, was the cold sea air, a small comfort indeed in the face of the cold sickness that was spreading through him. 

 

He stood there for a while, unseeing, until the sounds of someone else’s distress began to intrude on his own. 

 

“Look I’m not sure if I can get back...” he heard someone say, with great agitation, from the shadow of the doorway that he had just left, “I don’t know if there are any ferries at this time of night...”

 

Davos glanced behind him and saw Brienne, speaking earnestly into her mobile, her eyes wide and concerned. She glanced over at him, embarrassed, almost tearful and he was shamefully glad of the distraction, of the chance to ignore his own problems through resolving someone else’s.

 

He glanced at his watch, “the last ferry leaves in five minutes, I doubt you’ll make it. However, I do know the ferryman. I can give him a ring and ask him to hang on for a bit, give you some time to get down there.”

 

“Oh thank you,” Brienne said, and she muttered some more quiet assurances into her phone while Davos called up the ferryman. 

 

“I’ll walk you down there,” Davos said, when he had finished.

 

She smiled at him, suddenly self-assured, “no need, you’ve done enough. I’ll run for it.” With that she set off with an easy, loping gait, vaulting down onto the beach and heading off in the direction of the harbour, her hair pale against the night. Davos watched her go, bitterly wishing that his problems could be solved by merely putting on an extra burst of speed in the moonlight. 

 

He turned back towards the pub, listening to the laughter from within, then, suddenly feeling sick of it all, he turned away and began to trudge home. 

 

***

 

An hour later he was still sitting blankly at his small, bare table when someone started hammering on his door. 

 

He got up and opened it, squashing the small sting of disappointment when he saw that it was Sal, who had evidently sobered up considerably and who faced him with a contrite expression. 

 

“What the hell did you think you were playing at?” Davos asked, struggling to muster up some anger behind his words. 

 

“I could ask you the same question,” Sal said sharply, and perhaps he wasn’t feeling so contrite after all. “Look, I know that was neither the time nor the place...”

 

“You don’t say...” Davos growled.

 

“But he had to find out sometime Davos! And better now than later, before you’re so invested in him that he breaks your heart when he freaks out and gives you the cold shoulder!”

 

“I was always going to tell him! You don’t have the right to force me into it before I’m ready!”

 

“I saw you when it ended with Marya Davos! You parted on good terms and you might have been able to successfully hide it from her, but I was there in the aftermath and you were a right mess. Even now you regularly don a hair-shirt over a marriage that dissolved twenty years ago! And it’s not just Marya, the same goes for people you’ve been with for mere months, weeks even. Five years, ten years later you’re still putting them up when they need it, pulling them out of scrapes. Don’t get me wrong Davos, I love you for it, and I’m grateful.” He grinned rather hysterically, “Why else would you have put up with me all of these years?” 

 

He paused, smudging his eyeliner with the back of his hand, and his voice was tired and sad when he began again. “But the point I am trying to make Davos, is that you don’t love lightly, and the longer your relationships go on, the greater the effect it has on you. I’m sorry I interfered, but I couldn’t see you get more and more starry-eyed over this guy, when there was every chance that it was all going to blow up in your face as soon as he learnt the truth.” He shrugged, “maybe I’m wrong about him, I hope I am, but I looked at him and I just knew that he was going to kick off when he learned that you made a few mistakes...”

 

“I was in prison Sal,” Davos said bleakly. 

 

“Yes,” Sal said, angry once more, “and look at you now. You know you’re one of the best men I have ever known? If he can’t see past it...” Sal shook his head, “if he can’t then he’s an arrant fool, but surely you see that its better to find that out now rather than later?”

 

Davos looked blankly down at the grain of the wood, running his fingers convulsively over a knot. “I can grasp your reasoning Sal, even if I’m still bloody angry with you. But as it is, if you were hoping to spare me pain, then I think you might have come a couple of weeks too late.”

 

“Shit,” said Sal, his face pale.

 

“Yeah,” Davos breathed, “look, Sal, can you just, go to bed or something? I need some time to think.”

 

Sal glanced behind him, conflicted, “Are you sure? I can always go back and crash at The Smuggler’s Rest.”

 

Davos sighed, “don’t be stupid, of course I’m not going to turn you out. And I’m well aware that I’m proving your point for you, you bastard.” 

 

Sal did not reply, and Davos barely noticed him trudge off into the spare cabin.

 

In the end it was some hours before Davos could bring himself to pick up his phone and send Stannis a text. 

 

_I have some things I need to tell you._

 

The reply came almost immediately.

 

_My flat, tomorrow evening._


	11. I Was Born Upon The Tide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, I'm going to grit my teeth and post this now. I'd just like to warn everyone that this is the chapter in which this fic starts to merit its rating. This will only occur in the final fifth of this chapter so if you want to skip it, that's where you should stop. 
> 
> I would also like to thank everyone again for the brilliant feedback, it's deeply gratifying to read that people are enjoying this so far. Hopefully I can keep it up. 
> 
> The track for this chapter might have been written with Davos in mind, it's 'Highwayman' as performed by Arbouretum. (The original song is by Jimmy Webb, but in my opinion, this is the best version.)
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4dD0OQ7jVwU

_I was a highwayman. Along the coach roads I did ride_

_With sword and pistol by my side_

_Many a young maid lost her baubles to my trade_

_Many a soldier shed his lifeblood on my blade_

_The bastards hung me in the spring of twenty-five_

_But I am still alive._

 

_Highwayman._ Performed by Arbouretum. 

 

Davos sat across from Stannis at his kitchen table, the other man stern and remote, his eyes empty of the slight warmth that Davos had come to expect when he looked at him. It was strange that this made it easier somehow, triggering Davos’ memory and allowing his words to flow as though he were living through it all once more. After all, there was a certain similarity, the harsh overhead light and his awareness of the weight of every word he spoke provided a link back to that night over twenty years ago, when his youthful luck had finally run out. 

 

_***_

 

_15th March 1992, Gulltown Port Authority:_

 

‘Gods, he’s just a lad,” DI Vardis Egan muttered, observing the pale, scruffy young man through the one-way glass. 

 

“Yeah, well he’s a canny one at that,” DS Robar Royce replied, taking a sip of his tea, wincing when he found that it had grown cold. “we pulled him over and he was as cool as you like. I was just going to do a cursory check of his van and wave him on, I mean, I looked in the back and it seemed completely clear. However, his mate started twitching and young Hugh, you know, the one who’s a bit keen, well he decided to take a knife to one of the seats.” Robar whistled, “well....let me tell you...They’re still pulling it apart down on the dock, you wouldn’t believe some of the places he’s managed to squirrel stuff away.”

 

Vardis frowned, “drugs?”

 

“Nah, nothing that would be illegal in itself, just old school contraband, booze and cigarettes. However he’s so far over his allowance it’s almost funny,” he shook his head, almost admiringly, “I still can’t believe some of his hiding places...” 

 

The young man glanced up only briefly as they entered the room, if he was afraid he didn’t show it, staring down at his hands like any other mildly bored traveller who is waiting to be allowed to go on his way. 

 

“Davos Seaworth,” Vardis said sternly, turning on the recorder, “are you sure you don’t wish to exercise your right to legal advice?”

 

The boy, and he was little more than that, shrugged. “Not much point is there? Are you going to charge me?” His voice was rough, his vowels flattened, but his tone was polite. In his faded t-shirt; bearing the name of some band that Vardis failed to recognise, and scuffed jeans he might have been a backpacker or a student. However, the fading bruises on his arm and a scar on his collarbone, which looked horrifyingly like a cigarette burn, told a different story.  

 

“How did you come by that cargo Mr Seaworth” Vardis asked, ignoring his question. 

 

Seaworth gave him a blank look, incredulity just seeping in around the edges, “I’m not going to tell you that,” he said, as though he was honestly puzzled that Vardis had asked. 

 

“What about your mate eh?” Robar asked, “he put you up to it?”

 

“Stefan,” Davos said, concern plain in his voice, “is he alright? He wasn’t well when we started crossing over.” He looked at Vardis, “you can get him a doctor right?”

 

Robar laughed, “you’re awfully concerned, seeing that he gave you away. Is he your boyfriend or something?”

 

Seaworth shot Robar a look of barely disguised contempt, and Vardis cleared his throat, deciding to wrap up the questioning for now, making a mental note to return later with a different officer. 

 

As they were leaving he asked Seaworth, almost casually, if there was anyone he would like to call.

 

“Yes,” the boy whispered, his composure cracking for the first time since he had been arrested.

 

“Your parents?” Vardis asked, feeling an unaccustomed rush of sympathy.

 

“No,” the boy said, his face contracting with misery, “my wife.” 

 

_“_ Gods,” Vardis muttered. 

 

 

_12th January 1993, Oldtown Open Prison:_

 

The cheap plastic chair squeaked as Davos leaned forward over the table, clasping Marya’s hand. Her hair had grown out of it’s cut, the dye slipping away from the roots, and she had pushed it impatiently behind her ears. Her face was pale, free of makeup and there were shadows beneath her eyes and at the points of her wrists. 

 

Davos wondered savagely whether throat-burning guilt would be all he would ever feel when he looked at her now. 

 

“You alright love?” He asked, trying to keep his voice even.

 

“Says the man wearing those hideous overalls,” she said, smiling, though the humour seemed forced. 

 

“Did you find somewhere to stay over Christmas?” 

 

She sighed, “yeah, I crashed with a mate. Mum and Dad wanted me to come home, but they keep nagging me to get the divorce moving.” She glanced down at her hands and took a deep breath. “They want me to say that I hate you, and I can’t bear it...” She swallowed and then glanced up at Davos sharply, “Don’t you dare say that they have a point, I’ve heard enough from you on the subject as it is. I’ll decide how I feel about you, thank you very much.” 

 

Davos held up his hands, “I wouldn’t dream of it...You made it quite plain when we first drew up our house rules that Your Parents are Never Right.” He hesitated, “You still want to do it though?”

 

“Get divorced?” She snorted, “of course I do. The gods know I love you Davos Seaworth, but I’m not sure what we were thinking, getting married in the first place! But when we part we’ll do it in our own time and after our own fashion, and certainly not before you’re out of this place.” her jaw tightened and Davos knew that this was the last she would say on the subject. 

 

Their talk took a less serious turn after that, discussing the carpentry qualification Davos was working towards, and laughing over Sal’s visit, where he had spent the whole time twitching whenever a guard passed and had bolted for the exit as soon as he could, evidently operating under the, not wholly irrational, fear that he would be detained too. 

 

Eventually it was time for Marya to leave and Davos watched her go, a tall, brightly coloured figure among the harassed mothers, petulant teenagers and distressed elderly women. For a minute it seemed utterly ridiculous to Davos that he could not join her, take her arm and walk out of this place, the force of her personality reducing every obstacle before them. 

 

He only had to wait twenty-eight more weeks, then he could. 

 

 

***

 

Stannis sat white-faced in front of Davos, the tea he had poured them untouched, as Davos’ voice finally faltered. He had told Stannis everything, or at least, everything about the two glaring blots on his copy-book, one failed marriage, however friendly the parting had been, and infinitely worse, one spell in prison. There had been no room for fear while he was telling it, his words carrying him forward like the tide, but now the sickness seeped back in. Stannis’ eyes were wide and fixed on Davos’ face, and he realised, with a sharp stab in his stomach, that his features were being examined for a lie or for a truth held back. 

 

Abruptly, Stannis stood up and stalked out of his door without a word, leaving Davos alone in the flat. 

 

Davos sat there numbly for some minutes, before he began to worry about what he should do. There had been no overt dismissal, but the look of mingled betrayal and disgust on Stannis’ face had been clear enough. However long he intended to be gone, it was unlikely that he would welcome seeing Davos Seaworth still sitting there when he returned. 

 

Davos pulled himself heavily out of the chair and clumsily pulled on his coat, his fingers trembling with adrenaline and his heart numb, thank all the gods, though he knew that later the pain would come on with a hunger all the more voracious for this temporary respite. 

 

He was halfway down the stairs, moving as though through water, when the door to the stairwell crashed open and Stannis shot through. Davos did not have a second to experience anything more than shock before Stannis raised his hand, the gesture containing all the force of command. 

 

“Go back to the flat.” He ordered, and in the darkness of the stairwell his eyes burned black. “I thought you might try to leave, so I returned,” he said thinly, as though he were holding something else back behind the veneer of these words. “I am going back out again now, I don’t know for how long, but I will want to speak to you when I get back. Go back to the flat.” 

 

Davos turned mechanically and walked back up, it had not occurred to him to argue or to disobey for a moment. Evidently Stannis was equally confident of his acquiescence, for when Davos turned hesitantly at the top of the stairs, the doorway yawned black and empty once more. 

 

***

 

Davos did not watch the clock, aware of time passing only due to the gradual darkening of the sky. The stone walls did not creak and shiver reassuringly as did the wood of his houseboat and the silence fogged his ears and throat, the place hostile to him now in the absence of its owner. 

 

Eventually the hush was broken by the quiet rasp of the door sliding open. The long wait had drained Davos of much of the bitter anticipation that had tormented him, so he watched almost blankly as Stannis carefully hung his coat up and walked over to the table, his hair muddled about his head and his expression tight with concentration. 

 

Stannis did not sit, instead standing over Davos, but his face did not bear the expected certitude of judgement, indeed, he looked troubled and tired. 

 

“I can only conclude that nothing has changed.” Stannis said, his voice quiet and coloured with an inward incredulity. 

 

Davos remained silent, waiting for him to expand upon this. 

 

After a brief silence, he did. “You were a criminal. You were young, yes, and I’m sure if I enquired more closely I would discover that there were, ‘extenuating circumstances’.” Here he looked down at Davos sharply, keeping his gaze fixed on his face, “however, this does not excuse you in my eyes, nor indeed did it do so in the eyes of the law.” He sighed, “but you paid for your crime with a little space of your freedom, and it would be unjust and presumptuous of me to require further reparation from you. Therefore, my opinion of you must still rest, as it has done so far, on my understanding of your present character.” 

 

Then, to Davos’ bone-deep surprise, Stannis reached over the table and took his hand.

 

“I know,” Stannis began again, speaking more softly, “that I appear unyielding in my judgement, and this is true, I scorn those who seek to avoid the consequences of their actions, and those who lay claim to virtue purely because of an absence of vice.” He ran his fingers carefully over the ridges of Davos’ knuckles. “From your account of your past you are not guilty of the former, and I could never accuse you of the latter, you hold yourself to standards that few would ever try to meet. So, as I have said, my opinion of you must therefore remain unchanged.” After this declaration his stare hardened, “all that this new information has done is to give me a small insight into your past, something that I have previously lacked.”

 

Davos found his voice, hoarse with fear, relief and lack of use. “I know I have told you very little...”

 

“Until today you have told me precisely nothing.”

 

“Yes,” Davos brought his other hand up, placing it over Stannis’ “I know, and I am sorry for it. If you would like, I can remedy that now.”

 

Stannis nodded and; his hand still clasped between Davos’, stood, drawing them both over to the sofa. “Come,” he said, “it is cold.”

 

“It is also late,” Davos said, finally glancing at the clock. “If you would prefer to do this tomorrow...”

 

Stannis looked at him as though he had gone mad. “I do not intend to let you leave tonight, and I mean to know everything.” He stated this as though it did not admit of any doubt, and gods, it was neither the time nor the place, but that simple declaration tore through every nerve in Davos’ body. 

 

***

 

They ended up sprawled on the sofa, Davos’ back against Stannis’ chest, pinned in place by his arms. In truth, Davos was glad of it, the whole situation seemed fragile, as though he would wake any moment to find himself slumped at that empty table, still waiting for Stannis to return, this time to dismiss him. This physical proof of his presence, of Davos’ unaltered position in his life, reassured Davos greatly, as did the warm rush of air against his ear as Stannis spoke. 

 

“Tell me about your parents.” 

 

“Well I never knew my father, I can’t remember him ever being there and mum never spoke of him. She raised me alone and did a damn good job of it too, though it was tough, we never had much and we lived down in Fleabottom, which isn’t a great area now, but which was much worse then. Looking back I reckon she went without more often than I noticed.” He smiled, “the main thing I remember was the music, she was one hell of a guitarist, we used to get together and jam with a family from The Summer Isles who lived below us, I used to fall asleep to the sound of them singing.”

 

Stannis hesitated, “you speak of her in the past tense.”

 

“Yeah,” Davos sighed, “she died about five years ago, cancer. That was when I decided to get out of King’s Landing and come here.” 

 

Stannis ran his fingers along the curve of Davos’ jaw, brushing them through his beard. “Did you have any siblings?”

 

“No, thank all the gods. I was trouble enough.”

 

“You were?” Stannis’ knuckles brushed the sensitive skin behind Davos’ ear, making him shiver.

 

“Yes, I wasn’t a ‘problem’ at school per se, as when I got tired of it I just didn’t bother turning up, rather than kicking off as some of the kids did. Of course, that left me with plenty of opportunities to get into trouble elsewhere...”

 

Stannis’ hands stilled, “by trouble do you mean..?”

 

“No,” Davos shook his head against the crook of Stannis’ neck “no I didn’t start smuggling stuff until later,” he swallowed, “suffice to say that I needed some cash pretty badly after Marya and I got married, we were never quite sure where the rent was going to come from and she was working all-hours anyway. So I went to a guy named Roro Uhoris for a job on the side. Oh I knew he was pretty shady but I reckoned that I could avoid the worst of it, but inevitably I got sucked in and ‘dodgy’ turned into ‘outright illegal’.” Davos sighed and craned his neck back so that he could meet Stannis’ eyes, “I will tell you everything about it someday, but do you mind leaving it for now? It isn’t a pleasant subject.”

 

Stannis’ eyes darkened for a moment, but somehow Davos knew that his ire was not now directed at him. “Very well” he said stiffly, winding his fingers in Davos’ hair, an implicit reassurance, then, his voice lightening somewhat, he asked, “so when you said ‘trouble’ I suppose you were referring to your friend ‘Sal’?”

 

Davos laughed, “I’m sure he’d like to think so, we met at a party someone threw in an abandoned warehouse. I must have been fifteen at the time, though obviously I was claiming to be older, and he took a shine to me and kept buying me drinks. I think he was trying to corrupt me. As it was, I ended up fishing him out of the harbour, dead drunk, and dragging him home. When I woke up I found him sitting in the kitchen, having managed to twist mum around his little finger. I haven’t been able to shake him off since.” 

 

Davos felt Stannis smile against the skin of his neck. “Do you know,” Stannis said, barely moving his mouth above Davos’ skin, “I think I managed to avoid that kind of party until I attended university, and even on that single occasion, I didn’t stay longer than five minutes.

 

“You weren’t missing much,” Davos said, and he gasped as Stannis’ mouth pressed back down, forming a kiss on the underside of his jaw. Stannis lingered there for a while, only pulling away to ask, “and what of your ex-wife?” The ‘ex’ was emphasised, and Stannis hand, which had somehow crept down to Davos’ stomach while he hadn’t been looking, curled possessively against the material of Davos’ sweater, pulling it upwards away from his trousers. 

 

“Ah, well in the case of Marya she was the one rescuing me.” Davos said wryly, “She was volunteering as a first-aider at a gig when I got into a bit of a fight. After they dragged us apart she patched me up and dragged me down A&E just to make sure the damage was only superficial. She was still waiting when I got out and she bought me a Mars Bar and gave me a stern talking to, so naturally I proposed.” He chuckled, “She turned me down of course, but she still let me crash at her flat for a bit. She had just qualified as a nurse and she worked long hours, so I got into the habit of cooking for her and seeing that the flat was clean. After a couple of weeks of this she sat me down and told me that she had reconsidered my offer.” Davos smiled wryly, “it was stupid of course, we were both very young and though we were good friends from the first, we were never in love with each other. It was only when we woke up the day after the wedding that we realised we weren’t particularly attracted to each other, which was probably something we should have sorted out beforehand.” 

 

***

 

As he reached the end of his tale Davos became aware that the warm confessional atmosphere had altered somehow. Stannis’ hands were still brushing up and down his ribs, but the motion was no longer soothing. Davos cursed inwardly as his treacherous body shuddered and Stannis’ hands stilled and grew tense. Still chastising himself and searching for a way to salvage the situation, Davos pulled away and sat up. He tried to move down to the other end of the sofa to give Stannis some space, but as he disentangled himself Stannis’ hand shot out and sealed itself, too tightly, around Davos’ wrist. His jaw was working convulsively and his eyes were fierce and anxious. 

 

“Stannis,” Davos said uncertainly, “is everything..?”

 

“This may seem inappropriate, given the circumstances, but when I said I wanted you to stay...” Stannis began, his voice uncharacteristically uneven. He fell silent and glared down between them, where their hands were joined. “I meant...”

 

Realisation dawning, Davos held his breath, his heartbeat thrumming fast in his ears.

 

“Damn it!” Stannis suddenly exclaimed, throwing down Davos’ hand, “how is it that people find this so easy?” His voice was wretched and his shoulders hunched forward as though he were readying himself for a blow. 

 

Davos could not prevent himself from moving forward, bringing his hand up; his fingers tingling from the return of circulation, to Stannis’ cheek, rasping his palm over the faint  stubble he found there. “It’s alright,” he said, and his voice sounded, odd, distant, “You don’t need to say it, I understand.”

 

“You do?” Stannis looked at him with ferocious concentration, and his frown cleared when he found affirmation in Davos’ face. 

 

Davos was about to speak again, though to say what, he did not know, but the breath was knocked out of him as Stannis abruptly pushed him down so that he was lying on the sofa, crawling hurriedly on top of him and elbowing him in the stomach in the process. 

 

“Fuck!” Davos exclaimed, winded, and heard an answering expletive hiss from between Stannis teeth as he realised what he had done. Sensing that Stannis was about to pull away Davos reached up blindly, grasping him by the back of the neck and dragging his head back down.

 

Their teeth clashed as he brought their mouths together but Davos persisted, arching his neck to get a better angle and running his hands along the hard line of Stannis’ back. Eventually their kiss lost its edge of desperation and became merely demanding. Stannis shifted so that his weight was more evenly distributed and Davos gasped and twitched upwards as Stannis slipped a knee between his legs. 

 

Stannis pulled up, leaning over Davos on his hands and knees, his face flushed and his brow furrowed with the effort to retain some self-control. He went to speak, paused, cleared his throat and tried again. 

 

“Shall we?”

 

“Yes,” Davos said immediately, sitting up so quickly that he came close to toppling them both of the sofa. 

 

They almost tripped over three times on their way to the bedroom, mutual desire making their feet clumsy and their gestures quick and uncontrolled. The situation wasn’t helped by the way they kept pausing along the way, their hands seeking each other out as though they needed fresh reassurance with every passing moment. 

 

Davos had never been in Stannis’ bedroom before, but he had little time to notice, or reason to care about his surroundings as the back of his legs hit the bed. Stannis pushed Davos down so that he was sitting on it and used his shoulder to balance upon while he tugged his shoes off impatiently. 

 

They both stripped their clothes off with similar efficiency, and some other time, Davos decided to draw this part out, to wind the pitch of anticipation up much higher. But later, for now it was enough to run his hands over Stannis’ skin, pale and blue-veined around his forearms and inner thighs, to drop open-mouthed kisses along his collar-bones and down his chest. It wasn’t quite as Davos had imagined it, occasionally their knees knocked and Stannis pulled on Davos’ hair a little more harshly than he would have liked, but he could never have dreamt of the way Stannis’ eyes went from blue to the inky black of the sea at night as he looked up at him, nor the choked-off gasps he gave as Davos kissed his way down his hipbone and took him in his mouth.

 

Afterwards, Davos could not suppress a feeling of smugness, as, instead of retreating, or at least leaping up to clean them both off as Davos had half-expected, Stannis remained prostrate, panting and looking rather shell-shocked. It was left to Davos to stagger into the bathroom to grab a flannel, and on further consideration, he also went into the kitchen and fetched a glass, into which he poured a generous measure of the rather decent scotch that Stannis kept secreted away in the airing-cupboard, also grabbing a packet of garibaldi biscuits. Thus provisioned he went back into the bedroom, where Stannis had managed to haul himself up so that he was leaning against the headboard. 

 

Davos’ sense of self-satisfaction only grew when Stannis struggled to conjure up a frown at the sight of the biscuits in Davos’ hand. 

 

Davos quirked an eyebrow. “If you’re worried about crumbs messing up the bed, I’m sorry to tell you this, but I think that ship has sailed.”

 

Stannis’ mouth twitched involuntarily and he tugged down the covers on the other, _Davos’_ side of the bed in invitation. 

 

Davos cleaned himself off before he climbed in, passing the flannel to Stannis as he slid beneath the duvet. He grinned again as, when finished, Stannis idly dropped the cloth on the floor, dismissing it in favour of pressing a kiss against Davos’ shoulder and stealing the glass from out of his hands. 

 

They sat there in companionable silence for a while, passing the whiskey between them, before a thought occurred to Davos, making him splutter with mirth. 

 

He turned to Stannis, trying to suppress a grin. “You don’t suppose Renly’s at the door listening in?”

 

Stannis put the glass down, his shoulders shaking with unrestrained laughter, and if you had asked Davos, he would have unhesitatingly said that this was what he was proudest of, in the end.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew ok, that was my first attempt at writing a sex-scene, hopefully it wasn't too OOC/embarrassing to read. Ditto with the buildup, I hope I have managed to resolve things between those two relatively quickly without doing severe damage to their characters.


	12. A Double Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The track for this chapter is 'Tam Lin' as interpreted by Fairport Convention. 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jy3ihk205ew

_Oh, tell to me, Tam Lin," she said, "why came you here to dwell?_

_The Queen of Faeries caught me when from my horse I fell_

 

_Tam Lin._ Performed by Fairport Convention. 

 

 

_6th July 1992, Storm’s End Grammar School:_

 

Stannis shifted with discomfort as the stiff shirt-collar chafed against the sunburn on the back of his neck. July had seen nothing but a series of baking, brilliant days so far and the playing fields stank of sweat, suncream and parched grass. He frowned down at his book, persisting with it even though the glare of the sun on its pages was giving him a headache. 

 

A familiar pair of heavy footsteps approached and Stannis cursed under his breath. 

 

“What the hell is she doing?” Robert asked, standing over Stannis and squinting out into the field with cheerful malice.

 

Stannis glanced up. The red girl had been sitting, cross-legged in the full heat of the sun, for the past half-hour. She seemed to hum in the heat, almost like a mirage, and though he had been attempting to ignore her he kept catching glimpses of her bright presence from the corner of his eye. 

 

“Freak,” Robert added, as though anyone present were in any doubt as to his opinion. 

 

“She’s meditating,” Stannis said, irritated. He winced as soon as he did so, it was always better to ignore Robert when he was in one of these moods. 

 

Robert slumped down next to Stannis, jostling him with his elbow. He radiated heat as he leaned over to examine what Stannis was reading, grunting with disappointment when he saw that it was only his set text for English Lit, Macbeth. 

 

“So while she’s been meditating, gaining spiritual enlightenment and all that,’ he made a strange gesture with his hands that was presumably intended to represent ‘all that’, “you’ve been ‘meditating’ on her?” He leered.

 

“I have been revising,” Stannis said stiffly, eyeing his brother with distaste. 

 

Robert sneered, “yeah you probably have been as well, knowing you. You and the freak must be the only two Year Elevens in school. You realise ‘reading week’ isn’t actually meant to be taken literally?”

 

“Pardon me for wanting to do well in my GCSEs,” Stannis said bitterly.

 

“You’re pardoned,” Robert said airily, waving his hand in that self-satisfied manner that made Stannis’ jaw clench and his palms itch. 

 

“What are you doing here anyway?” Stannis asked, “I seem to remember you bellowing something about having ‘speared those A Levels like a pig’ when you rolled in roaring drunk last night.”

 

“I’m waiting for Ned, his last exam should be finished by now,” Robert said, eyeing the red girl unfavourably once more. Stannis searched for a suitable distraction, unwilling to let Robert bother the girl. Fortunately, at this point the doors clanged open behind them and the last, weary band of sixth-formers trailed out, groaning with relief and turning their faces up to the sun. 

 

“Ned!” Robert roared abruptly, leaping up from the grass and haring off across the playing field to rugby-tackle his best friend. 

 

Relieved, Stannis turned back to his book, glancing, just once, over the field as he did so.

 

The red girl was looking at him.

 

She did not drop her gaze as most people would have done, regarding him calmly and steadily for some minutes before she closed her eyes once more. 

 

It was probably only the effects of the sun, but under her scrutiny Stannis’ face felt seared, as though he had stood too close to a fire for too long. 

 

***

 

_21st July 1992, Midsummer Carnival, King’s Landing._

 

“I don’t see why I should stay with you,” Renly moaned, his face sticky with candyfloss and red with over-excitement. 

 

“Because you’re ten years old, and you have the sense of someone half your age,” Stannis snapped, wincing as Renly kicked him in the shin but refusing to relinquish his hand. He scowled through the crowd, Robert had wandered off ages ago and was probably pissed out of his head by now, which was a problem because he was the only one of them qualified to drive and Stannis wanted to go home, had wanted to do so ever since they had arrived. Glancing down at his younger brother who was pouting and kicking mulishly at the ground, he made a decision. Without transport the walk up into the city would take a good hour, particularly with the streets crowded with revelers, but at least it would be cooler and the noise might be less incessant. Maybe Renly would also calm down a bit, but Stannis would almost certainly have to weather a tantrum first. 

 

‘Come on,” Stannis said as he grasped Renly’s hand tighter, pulling him in the direction of the exit.

 

As he did so a bellow came from the crowd behind him. “Move out of the way!” A group of young men came hurtling through, laughing, having seized one of the large papier-mache constructions used in the parade. Heedless of any obstructions they ran straight into the two brothers, knocking Stannis roughly to one side. Cursing, he managed to catch himself against the side of one of the food-stalls but in the shock of impact, he lost his grip on Renly’s hand. 

 

“Seven hells, Renly!” He cried, looking down through the legs of the crowd, however, his little brother had evidently seized his chance and disappeared. 

 

Stannis whirled around in a tight, unhappy circle, cursing the ill-fortune that seemed to dog him at every step. Blindly choosing a direction, he was about to stalk off towards the parade route when he heard a voice behind him. 

 

“You’re going the wrong way.”

 

It was the red girl. 

 

In the midst of the shouting of the crowd and the flickering light of the torches she was utterly still, and the shadows around her seemed darker, making her stand out all the more. As ever, she wore red, a colour she donned so habitually that it seemed less of a fashion statement and more like a symbolic gesture, filling the same function as a prayer-shawl or the saffron robes of Buddhist monks. 

 

“You’re going the wrong way,” she repeated, without a trace of impatience, merely stating a  fact until he responded.

 

“You saw where he went?” Stannis asked.

 

“I didn’t need to.”

 

“What do you mean?” Curiously, Stannis wasn’t irritated by her cryptic answer, which would ordinarily have raised his hackles. 

 

“Your brother is not that complicated, you’re just not thinking hard enough, or at all in fact. What do people like your brother usually run towards?”

 

Stannis shrugged, “things they enjoy, or like,” he scowled, “or to things that have been forbidden to them.” 

 

“What does your brother most like?”

 

“Attention.” Stannis breathed, realising, as he said it, where his brother would have gone. He turned on his heel and hurried towards the temporary theatre that had been set up beneath the city walls. The red girl walked alongside him, easily keeping pace. Dimly he noted that they were almost of a height. 

 

“What is your name?” He asked, “I can’t keep thinking of you as ‘the red girl’.”

 

She smiled, “That’s an accurate enough moniker, though my name is actually Melisandre.” 

 

“I’m Stannis.”

 

“I know. You were pointed out to me when I arrived last year.”

 

“As ‘Robert’s younger brother’ no doubt.”

 

She grinned coldly, baring her teeth, “as someone to avoid.”

 

“People seem to take the same attitude towards you.” 

 

She shrugged, “we are serious and self-disciplined, people praise those qualities with their mouths and abhor those who hold them in their hearts.” She looked him over narrowly, “I wasn’t sure about you, how much of your character was that of the resentful middle child.”

 

Stannis glared, “I wasn’t sure to what extent your habits were the affectations of someone seeking a point of difference from their peers.”

 

She smiled, conceding a point. “Perhaps we were both mistaken.”

 

“Perhaps so.” 

 

They had drawn near to their destination. Most of the players were packing up, passing them by without a glance, their faces still streaked and smudged with stage makeup. Within, someone played a mournful arpeggio on a fiddle as Stannis and Melisandre ducked under the tent flap. 

 

It was not long before they found Renly, half-asleep among the stage sets, clad in a velvet cloak and a cardboard crown. He glanced up at them both blearily. 

 

“Who’s that?” He asked Stannis, yawning and gesturing at Melisandre. 

 

“This is Melisandre,” Stannis said, “she’s a friend of mine.”

 

 

***

 

“Hold on a minute,” Davos called out as someone knocked on the door of his office. He quickly signed off on the latest of the innumerable risk-assessments he had to file and twisted his chair around to face the door. “Hello, sorry about that...”

 

He trailed off. Extravagant outfits were not unknown at Maidenpool FEC, though they tended to be concentrated over in the art department, however, he had never before seen such a devotion to a single colour. The woman glowed like embers in his doorway, and the overall effect was so striking that it was a while before it struck him that her face was familiar. While Stannis appeared noticeably younger in the photograph on his fridge, his companion had aged little, and the cryptic half-smile she wore was identical.

 

“Melisandre.” Davos said.

 

“Davos Seaworth,” she replied, her smile widening, though her eyes continued to consider him cooly. Suddenly they warmed, as though someone had struck a match behind them. “I have been looking forward to meeting you.” She strode confidently into the room, grasping Davos’ arm, “please come with me.”

 

“What?” Davos said, rather blindsided, as she took advantage of his shock to drag him, unresisting, out of his office and along the corridor. “Hey...”

 

“I need your help,” she said, her eyes fixed in front of her, “it’s for Stannis.”

 

“Oh,” said Davos, and he shook her arm off, “well in that case, there’s no need to drag me.” 

 

Her eyes flicked up to his face. “Hmm,” she said, “if that is so, can you drive? I’ve come straight from the airport and I’m feeling a little tired.”

 

Davos shrugged, “fair enough, though I’m not sure that’s the usual protocol for a kidnapping.”

 

She blinked, “I believe you just expressed willingness to come with me...”

 

“No,” Davos said, “I expressed a willingness to come quietly, and I’ll be sticking to that story by the way.” 

 

Melisandre raised an eyebrow mockingly, “you believe I may get you into trouble with the authorities?”

 

“No,” Davos said evenly, “I believe you may get me into trouble with _Stannis_.”

 

At this Melisandre gave Davos a genuine grin. Frankly he wasn’t sure if the effect wasn’t more terrifying than that of her earlier, calculating smile

 

To Davos’ disappointment, Melisandre’s car was not also red, instead it was a dusty, blue Volvo. She caught his eye and, amused, explained, “I borrowed it from a friend.”

 

“Ah,” said Davos, catching the car keys and slipping into the driver’s seat, which, to his chagrin, he had to move forward a little in order to reach the pedals. 

 

“So,” he said, as they pulled out of the car-park, “are you going to tell me what this is about?”

 

“We’re going to Harrenhal,” she explained, “it’s the weak link.”

 

Davos eyed her through the mirror. “You’re well-informed.”

 

“As soon as Stannis told me what was happening I started making enquiries among some sources that he doesn’t have access to. They gave me some interesting information about some of the things going on out there.” 

 

“You can prove that Baelish is corrupt?”

 

“No, but I can do so with Bolton, which for our purposes, amounts to the same thing.” 

 

Davos frowned, “how so? Even if we interrupt the Harrenhal project, they’re not going to funnel the cash back into the library.”

 

“Of course they won’t, but we don’t need them to.”

 

“We don’t?”

 

“No, all we need is for them to agree to make the library a community asset. The activities of the campaign have persuaded a significant number of councillors to approve it, all you need now is to swing a few more over to your side. It’s well-known that Baelish and Varys hate each others’ guts, if Baelish is weakened, Varys will move into opposition in order to put pressure on him. Equally, if we make the threat of bad publicity serious enough, Robert will move to distance himself from Baelish and will carry others with him.” While her voice had been matter-of-fact up until this point, her lip curled as she said Robert’s name. 

 

“Gods,” Davos murmured, “I thought local politics was all about flowerbeds and municipal parking.”

 

Melisdandre smiled, a little patronisingly, “the nature of politics is not predicated on the issues with which it is concerned, but on the nature of the people who practice it. Now focus, we are drawing near.” She pulled a long-range telephoto lens over from the back seat. “I don’t want them suspecting that we have any information on them so we are going to have to be surreptitious,” and here she shot Davos a sharp look, “something at which I am sure you are well-practiced.” She pointed down the road, “that is the only approach with sufficient cover, I need you to drive slowly along it while I take some photos. Turn off before you reach the end.” 

 

Davos bit his tongue and followed her instructions, meandering along the rutted path while Melisandre hunkered down in her seat and took a large number of photographs. Halfway along she gave an intake of breath and glanced up, eyes wide. 

 

“They’ve spotted us?” At her terse nod Davos grabbed a map from the floor of the car, stopped and got out, spreading it out on the boot and examining it with every appearance of absorption. 

 

“Alright?” He asked when he got back in. 

 

“Yes,” she replied, a satisfied smile on her face and that assessing look back in her eyes, “and you can speed up now, I’ve got what I need.” 

 

“Bolton?”

 

“Better yet, Bolton and a certain Vargo Hoat, who is really a very foolish boy for hanging around in this country, considering the arrest warrant from Interpol he has hanging over his head.”

 

Davos whistled through his teeth. “What now?”

 

“I make sure that these pictures get to the right people.” 

 

Davos glanced at her sharply. “Blackmail?”

 

She grinned viciously. “Persuasion.”

 

Davos turned back to the road, his expression grim. “I’m going to have to tell him you know, and he won’t like it.” There was no question to whom he was referring.

 

Far from being angry, Melisandre gave him a look that was almost kindly. “I know, and I’ll take responsibility for it.”

 

“Not all,” Davos said gruffly, “I will own up to my part.”

 

They drove on in silence for a while before Davos spoke again. “You know about me.” It was not a question.

 

“Yes,” she replied, “does he?”

 

“He does.”

 

“Good,” she said, and her eyes were blazing and without mercy, “because if you hadn’t told him, I would have done.”

 

Davos nodded, “no secrets from Stannis, understood.” 

 

Shortly, they pulled back into the car park, and to Davos’ astonishment he found they had only been gone for an hour. “Well,” he said dryly, handing the keys over, “I’d like to get back to work now, unless of course there’s anything else you need me for. A little light espionage perhaps? I should warn you that I’m hopeless with computers, and if you’re intending to assassinate anyone I’m afraid you’re on your own.” 

 

Melisandre smiled, bright and quick and blinding. “I _like_ you Davos Seaworth,” she said, gleefully.

 

“Well that’s a relief,” Davos murmured as he got out of the car, “the gods know what would happen to me if you didn’t.”  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want all of Team Dragonstone to be bffs forever ok?
> 
> Also I couldn't resist more flashbacks, because teenage Stannis would have been adorable.


	13. Open Your Houses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok *glances at clock* well i was going to call this 'tomorrow's update in advance' but seeing that it is, in fact, tomorrow now, you are actually getting this on schedule. 
> 
> Right, time for another rating warning. This was supposed to be a 'character development and plot advancement' chapter, but my hand slipped towards the end and it all got a bit M-rated. Really, Davos is the one to blame, apparently Stannis being righteous makes him go all weak at the knees. 
> 
> The track for this chapter is 'Open Your Houses (Basilisk)' by Shearwater. It is only really appropriate for parts of the chapter as there is a lot going on, but it's still a good tune. 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uZvwbXGMsVQ

_I was waiting._

_I was reconstructing the memory,_

_Unbelieving in the changes looming inside of me,_

_The pulse of an irregular life._

 

 _Open Your Houses (Basilisk)._ Shearwater

 

 

Matters accelerated after Melisandre arrived, tumbling down to Dragonstone like an exotic bird blown far off of its course by the north wind. She slotted herself easily into the campaign, a silent, frequently amused presence at committee meetings, where despite her seeming lack of contribution, she managed to turn Jon Snow and his friends to her purposes with worrying speed. These purposes seemed to require no further contribution from Davos, though he suspected that leaving him out of it was a condition of the mutual non-intervention agreement that she and Stannis had come to. Like Davos, she seemed to spend most of her time at Stannis’ flat, to which she apparently had a key. Thankfully, she also possessed a preternatural awareness of when her presence was causing an obstacle and in these cases seemed willing enough to disappear back into the night. 

 

For all this, Davos might have been at least a little jealous, had she not invaded his life equally as thoroughly. 

 

It began the weekend after Melisandre arrived. The frost had bitten deep in the night and the blistering wind stole Davos’ breath when he briefly poked his head out of the cabin that morning. He would, nevertheless, have made the trip into Dragonstone, but he knew that Stannis would be busy in the library until five, so he was free to hole himself up in his houseboat to avoid the worst of the weather. He decided to use the opportunity to work on an essay his A-Level tutor had set and which he had sorely neglected during the tumult of the previous week. Grabbing his copy of _Doctor Faustus,_ he had just sat down with a cup of tea when he heard the deck creak as someone stepped up onto it. He glanced up at the window and caught a flash of red, burning bright against the frozen sky. 

 

Melisandre walked into the cabin with none of the normal hesitance of the first-time visitor, kicking her shoes off and sliding neatly into the chair opposite Davos. 

 

“Hello,” he said, a little nonplussed, reflexively getting up to make her a cup of tea.

 

“Hi,” she said absently and made no further remark until he had finished, choosing instead to examine his copy of Marlowe’s play with evident interest. 

 

“Is something wrong?” He asked warily, for though she seemed perfectly at ease, he knew that she had returned the old Volvo she had been driving to her friend the other day, and must have therefore taken a long, cold walk down the coast to reach him.

 

“No,” she replied nonchalantly, “I found myself at a loose end and so I decided to come here, as a change from hanging around the flat,” she gestured with the book, “you know, I once played Mephistopheles.”

 

“Really?” Davos said, entertained by the thought of it, “I imagine you were pretty convincing.”

 

She grinned, “Yes, I suppose I wasn’t bad, for a school play at least.”

 

“Oh! Was that at Storm’s End?”

 

“No, this was a couple of schools before.”

 

Davos raised an eyebrow, “you must have moved around a lot.”

 

“We did, it got to be a habit for my mother and I have carried on the tradition. Though I at least have something of a home in this place.”

 

Davos frowned, “if you don’t mind me asking, how do you make a living?”

 

She shrugged, “I work when necessary, for as long as it takes until I can travel onwards once more,” She leaned forward, warming to her theme.“I made a decision when I was quite young not to encumber myself with anything that might hamper my freedom to move around. So many people do not consider the shape of their lives, acquiring useless things and passing though the years almost by accident.” She paused, and if possible, her gaze became even more searching, “Stannis is different, he did not choose the same path as me, but nevertheless, he does not take decisions about his life lightly.”

 

It could have been a compliment, or a warning, or more likely some strange combination of the two. Davos chose to accept it without comment, instead smiling wryly and saying, “I’m afraid when I was younger all my decisions were made according to circumstance, though I hope I dealt with my choices honourably once they had been made.”

 

She smiled, “of that I have no doubt, and,” she said, glancing down at the book in her hand, “at least you have not stagnated.”

 

“Yes, I suppose I can’t be completely written off then,” Davos remarked dryly. 

 

To his surprise, Melisandre threw back her head and laughed. 

 

***

 

The day passed, Davos working at his essay and Melisandre variously meditating or taking advantage of the stack of books he kept by the sofa. Judging by her smile and subsequent absorption after finding several works by Jo Nesbo, she had a predilection for grim, northern crime novels. 

 

Gradually night fell and they made their way over the fields towards the town, their breath fogging before them, dissipating into the sea mist that was beginning to creep in. Whether it was due to the strength of her dislike of the temperature, or a nascent inclination to relax around Davos, Melisandre’s impassive appearance slipped slightly as she complained bitterly about the cold. 

 

“I wish they had done the decent thing and tried to close the library down in the summer, so I could at least have dealt with it while it was tolerably warm.” she complained, rather petulantly, as she unlocked the door to Stannis’ flat. 

 

“Then you’ll be glad to hear that matters are advancing rather more swiftly than we had expected,” Stannis’ voice carried through from the kitchen, where he was sat at the table, studying something on his laptop. 

 

As they drew nearer he turned the screen towards them, and they leant over his shoulders  to read the latest email from Varys. It was characteristically polite and to the point, requesting the presence of Stannis and the rest of the committee at a meeting to be held on the following Wednesday, for the purpose of discussing the bid to declare Dragonstone Library a community asset. 

 

Davos gave an exclamation of triumph and Melisandre permitted herself a satisfied smile. Stannis, by contrast, remained unmoved. 

 

“It is by no means certain that we will succeed,” he reminded them, “we must not be complacent.”

 

Davos nodded, “we should convene a meeting tomorrow to discuss how we will approach this.”

 

Stannis nodded, “I will email the rest of the committee to let them know.” 

 

“And I have some calls I need to make,” Melisandre said, moving towards the door.

 

Stannis shot her a sharp look, but did not say anything, impatiently pulling the chair beside him out from under the table so that Davos could sit down. 

 

“Oh wait,” Davos said, before Melisandre could leave. When she turned round, puzzled, he continued, “when you have finished are you coming back? I can sort out dinner for you as well.” 

 

There was a brief flash of surprised pleasure in her eyes before they grew calm and inscrutable once more. She shrugged, “as you like.” and left the flat, phone in hand. 

 

Davos turned back to Stannis to find the other man studying him with an unreadable expression. Deciding not to comment on it, Davos moved over to stand behind him, running a thumb gently into the hollow behind his ear and relishing the shiver this prompted.

 

“We can do this,” Davos said confidently and in response Stannis nodded and brought Davos’ hand round to his lips. 

 

***

 

Hours later, after they had eaten and Melisandre had left, they lay in the warm lamplight, their legs tangled together amidst the covers. Sated and drowsy, Davos absentmindedly palmed the length of Stannis’ back in broad, lazy strokes. 

 

“I have something to give you,” Stannis said, his hair ruffled and his face softened by the faint light. 

 

“Hmm?” Davos said, shaking off the sleep that was creeping up on him. 

 

“Yes,” Stannis twisted out from under the covers and reached over to his bedside table. He turned quickly back, shuddering at the cold and pressed a key into Davos’ hand.

 

“For the flat,” he explained.

 

“Oh,” said Davos softly.

 

“Well it seemed ridiculous that Mel had one and you didn’t,” Stannis said awkwardly, “not,” he continued hastily, “that I didn’t want to give you one anyway, you spend enough time here after all...and I’d like you to continue doing so...”

 

Davos grinned, “thank you, I’ll have to get you one made up for the houseboat.”

 

“You don’t have to...”

 

“I want to,” Davos murmured, pulling Stannis in for a kiss. 

 

***

 

They must have made a curious picture in the council offices. Catelyn and Jon Arryn were, at least, suitably attired and at ease, but the rest of them were a very different matter. Though his bearing was characteristically confident, Stannis had dressed with his habitual lack of concern and his manner was not helped by his obvious impatience with Councillor Pycelle, as the old man took an age to bring the meeting to order. The other members of their group had made no attempt to dress appropriately and though Melisandre and Maege seemed supremely unruffled, Jon Snow, Brienne and Sam were at once defiant and uneasy in their t-shirts and jeans. As for Davos, he had long ago tugged his collar out of alignment and he was painfully aware that his distaste for the pinched, shiny shoes that he normally avoided like the plague was obvious to anyone who might care to look. 

 

Seeking a distraction, Davos surreptitiously eyed the council members ranged before them. Pycelle was still droning on, his voice so monotonous that even Ned Stark had ceased to pay attention. The latter looked tired and little more comfortable in the situation than Davos himself. His eyes had brightened briefly when Catelyn and Jon had entered the room but he had quickly lapsed back into studied neutrality. The same could not be said for Baelish, who was staring across the table at Melisandre in the way a viper might consider a snake of similar size who had wandered into its territory. On his left, Varys showed no such single-mindedness, examining them all with an expression of faint, indulgent amusement.

 

At the head of the table sat the councillor who caused Davos the greatest concern, if only because, unlike his fellows, Robert had spared Davos a brusque, searching glance, his stare passing over Davos’ face like wire-wool before Robert had dismissed him and sat back, settling for glaring across the table at his brother. 

 

Though neither of them would thank him for pointing it out, Davos noted that the one thing that the two brothers did have in common was their expression of disgusted impatience. 

 

“Alright, seven hells, lets get this thing over with.” Robert snapped, interrupting Pycelle. He flipped dismissively through the booklet Catelyn had prepared. “Gods, this is a farce,” he squinted over at Varys, “I assume that all these figures stack up?”

 

“Provided that the committee secure some kind of outside funding to allow them to purchase the library building, then yes, it will be perfectly feasible for Dragonstone Library to continue to function.” Varys replied smoothly. 

 

“Of course, it would no longer be under council control,” Baelish said sharply. 

 

“Eh?” said Robert, frowning, “how does that work.”

 

“You cannot possibly think that you will have the right to dictate to an institution from which you have withdrawn your support?” Stannis answered trenchantly, ignoring Catelyn’s wince at the harshness of his tone. 

 

Robert inhaled sharply, “so this is your bid for independence eh Stannis? How long have you been planning to create your own little fiefdom on the island?”

 

Stannis rolled his eyes, “yes, naturally I was ecstatic at being able to risk my livelihood and those of my employees on the slim chance that I would be able to secure the funds to keep the library going, free of your influence.” He gestured to the rest of the committee, “in so doing I have also managed to inveigle these people into working towards my aims. I must say I am surprised that you think me such a smooth political operator, when on previous occasions you have found my apparent lack of charisma a source of much mirth.”

 

Robert puffed himself up and smiled patronisingly across the table, “I don’t think that a council meeting is quite the right occasion for a fraternal dispute,” he chided Stannis, glancing slyly at the other council members out of the corner of his eye.    

 

“No indeed,” Stannis replied, and though he was evidently furious, leaning forward in his chair as though he would gladly strike Robert, his face was pale and his voice steady. “Then allow me to put forward my position, as a representative of this committee. I would argue that, due to the withdrawal of council funding and our presentation of a plan for the library’s maintenance that you yourselves concede is sound, we have the right to attempt to seek alternative sources of revenue that will keep the library functioning in the same manner and situation as it has hitherto done.” 

 

The room fell silent after this speech, the committee members, and, Davos suspected, some of the councilors, observing the debate between the two brothers with no small amount of fascination. As for Davos in particular, his reaction shaded into the inappropriate, his well-established admiration for Stannis’ straightforward kind of eloquence now bound up with a rather more visceral appreciation of the intensity of his gaze and his low, unyielding voice. 

 

Davos shook off a shiver and glanced up, meeting Melisandre’s eyes. He hoped she had not divined the tendency of his thoughts, though if she did suspect anything, she merely shared a bright look of triumph with him before moving onto the attack herself. 

 

“Of course,” she said, smoothly, knowingly, “if the situation has changed with regard to the council’s finances, then all this will be needless.”

 

“Why would the situation have changed?” Baelish said, too harshly, garnering a speculative look from Varys.

 

She shrugged, the picture of unconcern. “I thought I heard a rumour that a large council project had fallen through. I must have been mistaken.” She smiled widely and ruthlessly, directing the main force of it over at Baelish. 

 

After that the council members couldn’t leave the room fast enough. The committee was abruptly asked to leave, and they were informed that they could expect a decision within a couple of hours. 

 

In truth, the news came a bare thirty minutes after they had all piled into a nearby cafe, much to the chagrin of the other patrons and the lone barista, who had all been enjoying the relative quiet. Peace was however, quickly restored when Varys sauntered in, as the entire committee fell silent. 

 

“Well,” he said, idly checking his phone, “it seems you have been successful at this stage. Oh they’ll call you all in to officially inform you of course, we can’t deny Pycelle the opportunity to bore you all to tears for at least another hour, but I was passing by and I saw no need to leave you in suspense.” He paused, eyes briefly resting on Melisandre, “I wish you all the best of luck with your future, endeavours.”  

 

After he had left they sat there in silence for a while, before Maege piped up.

 

“Well, looks like we’re going to have to get some cash from somewhere now.” She said it with relish and with an emphasis that implied the process would not be entirely above-board.

 

Evidently Catelyn picked up on this too. “Nothing illegal,” she said sharply.

 

Davos was not the only one who was unable to contain his laugh. 

 

 

***

 

Stannis supposed he ought to feel triumphant, or at the very least mildly satisfied. Instead he felt nothing but frustration as he cast about for a way to escape the celebration at the Smuggler’s Rest, to which he had been dragged by the rest of the committee on their return to the island. 

 

The place was packed, warm and hazy with woodsmoke and everyone had coalesced into groups, talking ever more loudly over the general hubbub. Catelyn had been joined by her husband and all of her brood, though her eldest son chose to sit a little apart with Jon and Sam. Brienne, Maege and Beric were propping up the bar, deep in debate. 

 

Stannis sighed and relinquished the pretense that he was idly scanning the crowd, he was conducting a search, and his search had an object. 

 

“He’s over there,” Melisandre said, knowing his mind, as ever.

 

As if he were aware of their scrutiny, Davos glanced up, and, catching Stannis’ eye, smiled and began to move over, gently disengaging himself from the crowd around Catelyn. 

 

As they watched him wend his way towards them, Melisandre said, quietly, “I won’t be coming back to your flat tonight.” She smiled over at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement, and walked over to the bar, briefly resting her hand on Davos’ shoulder as she passed him, exchanging a few words. Later, Stannis would be somewhat embarrassed by her grasp of the situation, but at the time he was merely a little puzzled. 

 

“Hello,” Davos said warmly, brushing his hand down Stannis’ arm, and he was unable to prevent himself from leaning, ever so slightly, into that touch. 

 

“Davos,” Stannis said gravely, “are you inclined to leave soon?”

 

Davos’ smile widened, “as soon as possible,” he then laughed, rather ruefully, “in truth I’ve been cursing everyone else’s presence ever since your little speech this afternoon.”

 

Stannis frowned, “why?”

 

Davos looked up at him, his brown eyes bright, almost feverish. “You really have no idea? Well...” He hesitated and then ploughed on, a blush rising up his cheeks, “well, suffice to say, right now I want nothing more to be in your flat, and...” He glanced around nervously and leaned in closer, murmuring his next words for only Stannis to hear. “I’d quite like you to fuck me, if that’s alright by you.”

 

Stannis could no more suppress the sharp intake of breath that followed than he could quieten his now thundering heart or smother the heat that began to spread steadily through his veins. 

 

Davos drew back, taking note of this, and his smile curved up, growing somewhat wicked. He glanced around the room, ostensibly calm, betrayed only by the jump of his pulse, clearly visible in his throat. “You’re going to have to say goodbye to Catelyn and Jon, they’ve been trying to catch your eye for the last few minutes. I’ll slip off now and let myself into the flat.” He reached up and straightened Stannis’ collar, “hurry as much as you can.”

 

Stannis had never blessed his reputation for rudeness more as his determined rebuffs to all conversational approaches that followed were sighed at, but accepted as the norm. Even so, it was a full twenty minutes before he was able to drag himself away, only just holding himself back from running up towards the castle. 

 

***

 

In the meantime Davos had let himself into the flat, his hands shaking, fumbling at the keys. A more self-assured man might have dimmed the lights and set a fire. As it was, Davos merely shoved his coat up on the hook behind the door and sat himself down in front of the fireplace to wait, frequently leaping up from his seat to pace his way across the carpet. 

 

It was just as well he had not made any arrangements, for they would not have long survived Stannis’ entrance. He flung the door open and kicked it closed almost savagely, pausing only to throw his bag down on the floor and his coat over a chair before he swooped down onto Davos, pushing him back onto the sofa. 

 

Davos groaned as Stannis bit at a particularly sensitive spot beneath his jaw, running his cold hands up beneath his sweater and over his chest. In turn he reached up and seized Stannis’ hips, pulling them down to grind against his own and eliciting another half-strangled gasp from Stannis. They had begun to know each others bodies better, to recognise cues and to touch each other with more surety, but even without this Stannis would have easily been able to deduce that Davos was not in the mood to wait. 

 

“Where?” he ground out, groaning as Davos brought up one of his legs and slipped it between Stannis’ thighs. 

 

“Don’t care...” Davos moaned, “bed perhaps, for now...in my bag first...lube...” 

 

Stannis dragged them both up, in his impatience not bothering to rifle through Davos’ bag, merely picking the whole thing up and hauling it into the bedroom with them. Once inside, he crowded Davos up against the door, hauling off his shirt and tweaking his nipples hard, bringing his mouth down to bite at Davos’ collarbone. 

 

Davos was just thinking hazily that maybe up against the door would be a good idea after all when Stannis pulled away, cursing and tugging ineffectually at the buttons of his shirt. Davos moved in to offer help, and between them they got the dratted thing off. Davos used his momentum to lean in and brush his mouth down the sparse line of hair that trailed from Stannis’ chest down to his stomach, making Stannis throw his head back and grit his teeth, failing to fully stifle a groan. 

 

Davos was about to press his advantage and move lower when Stannis abruptly seized him by the shoulders and pulled him up. His eyes were wild, his pupils blown wide, and a hectic flush was spread across his cheeks. 

 

“You said...” He panted, “You said that we might...”

 

“Yes,” Davos gasped, pulling away reluctantly and emptying the contents of his bag onto the floor until he found what he needed. No sooner had he done so than Stannis seized him by the wrist and pulled him down onto the bed, rolling them over immediately so that they were lying flush against each other. 

 

Though the process of getting rid of trousers and underwear was hurried and frequently fumbled, they took their time preparing Davos, slicking Stannis’ fingers up liberally before pressing them inside, as it had been some time since he had done this. Throughout this process, Stannis’ attempts to maintain his self-control gradually lapsed, his breath coming quick and harsh and the muscles of his abdomen jumping with every twitch and moan Davos gave. He clenched his jaw and groaned when he finally pushed inside, filling Davos by increments, finally beginning to move when Davos, robbed of speech, tilted his hips up invitingly and ran his heel up the back of Stannis’ thigh. 

 

For a while there was no sound save for their bitten-off moans and the slap of skin on skin until Stannis began to stiffen, trembling with the effort of maintaining a steady pace and raising his eyes to Davos’ face with a look of desperation. 

 

“Yes,” Davos groaned, “faster, let it go...”

 

That was all the permission Stannis needed, with a savage moan he began to move frantically, erratically, his hips pistoning up into Davos, keeping his eyes fixed wildly on his face as he did so. 

 

This was too much for Davos and shortly after Stannis gave a final shudder and came inside him with a cry that he could not, or did not attempt to suppress, Davos quickly followed, with only the briefest applications of Stannis’ hand helping him on. 

 

They lay there for a while, panting, before Stannis slipped out and rolled over onto his side, pulling Davos in to face him. The room was warm and silent but for the sound of their breathing and, though he was aware that he ought to get out of the bed and clean himself up, Davos felt deeply disinclined to move even an inch. His resolution wasn’t helped by Stannis, who had begun to trail his fingers gently through Davos’ hair, shifting so that Davos’ head lay on the crook of his shoulder. 

 

Eventually, with much wincing, Davos got up and staggered over to the bathroom on unsteady legs. 

 

Stannis brow was furrowed when he re-emerged, “You are hurt?”

 

“Oh no,” Davos hastened to reassure him, “or at least, there’s only a little bit of soreness. I might feel it tomorrow but,” he grinned helplessly, “it was bloody well worth it.”

 

Stannis echoed his smile without reservation, an expression of wonder transforming his face “yes, yes I think that would be worth almost anything...”

 

After that there was nothing for Davos to do but slide back beneath the covers and take Stannis into his arms until they both fell asleep. 

 

 


	14. Tomorrow We'll Be Sober.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, here's a little interlude containing a party (because folkies throw the best ones) and a ridiculous amount of fluff. Seriously, this is the kind of thing that GRRM would write if he were planning to kill everyone involved shortly after. Except, I'm not going to do that. 
> 
> The track for this chapter is 'Landlord' performed by 'Blackbeard's Tea Party,' the most dangerous ceilidh band in the world. (Also ASoIaF fans, judging by their appreciation of the House sigils helle and I attached to our tent when we were at The Cambridge Folk Festival.)
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z8TeQwCVreI

_Landlord fill the flowing bowl til it doth run over_

_Landlord fill the flowing bowl til it doth run over_

_For tonight we’ll merry merry be_

_For tonight we’ll merry merry be_

_For tonight we’ll merry merry be_

_Tomorrow we’ll be sober._

 

_Landlord._ Blackbeard’s Tea Party. 

 

A week had passed since their success with the council and it had been the longest period in which Stannis had kept his temper that Melisandre could ever remember, naturally, she speculated wildly about the cause of this, though she kept her suspicions to herself. When Stannis was feeling relatively composed, he tended to man the reference desk at the back of the library, updating the catalogue and periodically glaring out at the readers, in order to maintain the optimum level of cowed silence. 

 

Melisandre therefore knew that what passed for a good mood with Stannis had come to an end when she instead found him holed up in his office, grinding his teeth and glaring at his computer as though he were considering setting fire to it. 

 

“Look at this.” Stannis said, pointing to the screen, where an email was displayed. 

 

 

From: [marya@capewrathcommune.co.wes](mailto:marya@capewrathcommunity.co.wes). 

 

To: [stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes](mailto:stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes). 

 

Subject: Davos.

 

 

Dear Stannis.

 

I hope you will excuse me for contacting you out of the blue, Sal gave me your email address, though I can’t tell you how he got it in the first place. However, I can’t trust Davos to bring this to your attention. 

 

He almost certainly won’t have told you this, but it’s his birthday next Friday. He is notoriously inclined to let the day pass without marking it in any way, but I normally manage to persuade him to come down to Cape Wrath for a couple of days. Obviously, I thought that this year he would prefer to stay on Dragonstone, so I have decided to descend on him instead and I was planning to drag Sal along too. As I have no doubt that we will do little more than lounge around his houseboat I was wondering if you would be prepared to muster up any of his friends on the island, so that we can make an informal party of it. Of course, if you two have made any plans of your own, let me know and I’ll work around them. 

 

I look forward to meeting you.

 

Marya. 

 

P.S. There’s no need to try and keep it a secret, when you get back to me I’ll let Davos know what’s happening, as he isn’t very fond of surprises.

 

 

“Well,” Melisandre said, after reading it through, “she seems eager not to tread on your toes. I assume, from the violence with which you are pacing back and forth, that her suspicions are correct and that Davos hasn’t told you that his birthday is coming up?” 

 

“No he has not.” Stannis replied shortly, circling the room before returning to read through the email once more, obviously searching carefully for misspellings or errors of syntax and being deeply disappointed when he could not immediately find any.  

 

Melisandre eyed him carefully, “do you want me to arrange this?”

 

Stannis frowned, “of course not, I am perfectly able to organise a birthday celebration for my...for Davos without your help.” 

 

Melisandre hesitated, “are you sure?”

 

“Yes!” Stannis snapped, closing the screen rather savagely. 

 

***

 

“Seven hells,” Jon muttered as he scanned through the email on his phone. He glanced over at Sam, “you ought to read this.”

 

“Already have done,” Sam said, lying prone on their sofa, a damp cloth on his forehead, “and I’ve been dealing with the fallout all day. You know he actually cut the power to all the computers after he found some kid looking at cat macros? Of course, he then disappears to update the signs prohibiting ‘the frivolous use of library resources’ to include ‘adding superfluous text to images of animals,’ leaving me to deal with all the complaints, not that any of them would have had the guts to approach him anyway. I swear I’m going to hand my notice in tomorrow.”

 

“You’ve been saying that on a weekly basis for the past two years.”

 

“I mean it this time,” Sam groaned, “so, are we going to go?” 

 

Jon looked at him incredulously, “of course we’re going to go, There’s no way I’m missing this!” He turned back to read the email again, shaking his head in disbelief. 

 

 

From: [stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes](mailto:stannis.baratheon@crownlands.gov.wes)

 

To: [lordsnow@thewall.co.wes](mailto:lordsnow@thewall.co.wes).

 

Subject: Davos’ birthday. 

 

Dear All.

 

It has been brought to my attention that it will be Davos’ birthday next Friday. As is customary, some form of celebration is being organised, to which I believe all of you may wish to be invited. It is, fortunately, not being arranged in secret, so do not trouble to concoct any stratagems in order to keep the plans from Davos. It will take place at 7 o’clock next Friday at Davos’ houseboat. Please inform me in good time whether you plan to attend or not. You are not to invite anyone to whom this email has not been specifically sent. 

 

Stannis.

 

P.S. I have attached a copy of the Noise Act of 1996 and the Anti-Social Behaviour Act of 2003 as guidelines for what will ‘not’ be acceptable behaviour from you. 

 

“You know,” said Jon, a note of awe in his voice, “of all the many, many things I could say about this, the thing that really strikes me is that he has managed to entirely avoid using the word ‘party’ despite inviting us all to one.” 

 

Sam shrugged, “perhaps he is allergic.” 

 

***

 

The following days passed swiftly and though Davos made some irate noises about ‘meddling’ and ‘unnecessary fuss,’ the matter of his birthday troubled Stannis little. His only concerns were to purchase a suitable gift and to somehow prevent Melisandre from buying any fireworks. 

 

As it was, on the day of Davos’ birthday, they spent much of the day apart, after Davos had sent Stannis out of the door with five minutes until the library was due to be opened, breathless and with his collar rumpled almost beyond repair. To his dismay, in the afternoon Stannis was called over to the mainland to investigate some, ultimately fruitless, funding opportunities for the library. So it was that the party had already begun and he was not in the best of moods by the time he arrived at Davos’ houseboat. 

 

He paused outside, listening to the raised voices and laughter coming from within, gritting his teeth. While Sam’s earlier supposition was not entirely correct, Stannis was certainly not fond of parties, his only experience of them being either of torturous events involving his family or of dealing with the mess that Renly’s frequent revels produced. Standing there, watching the light flicker as people moved to and fro in front of Davos’ windows Stannis was suddenly struck with a choking feeling of resentment. He wanted to spend this evening with Davos and Davos alone, not to have to manage a flood of other people, particularly those who, by some cruel twist of fate, had known the man far longer than he, who were secure in their knowledge of Davos and their shared history while Stannis was still half-stumbling in the dark. Even as these thoughts crossed his mind he chastised himself for them, Davos had a right to his past and to the company of his old friends, he should not have to confine himself to Stannis’ society alone. 

 

As if on cue, the door to the houseboat opened and Davos stepped out, flooding light and noise onto the jetty. As he drew nearer, Stannis saw that his face was flushed and his eyes bright, evidently the drink had already been flowing. 

 

“I thought I heard you pull up,” Davos said, tugging Stannis down into a kiss, his mouth warm and sure and his limbs pliant. 

 

Stannis felt his shoulders loosen as his hand reached up instinctively to clasp Davos’ shoulder, and he reluctantly pulled back a little before their kiss escalated into something that should not take place in front of a boatload of other people. 

 

“Have you had an enjoyable day?” He enquired, tracing his fingers down the side of Davos’ face, swallowing convulsively as Davos nodded in affirmation and pushed his face into Stannis’ palm. 

 

“Davos?” A woman spoke, standing silhouetted in the doorway, “oh I’m sorry, I’ll go back inside.”

 

“Marya,” Davos said, confirming Stannis’ suspicions. He grabbed Stannis by the hand and pulled him forward, “here, perhaps you’ll stop badgering me for further ‘details about my boyfriend’ when you’ve actually met him.”

 

Stannis was too caught up on Davos’ use of the word ‘boyfriend’ to truly observe Marya until they had crossed over the deck and climbed down into the cabin. It was perhaps wishful thinking on his part, but she and Davos resembled each other to such an extent that they seemed like brother and sister. She certainly appeared to have a similar attitude to Davos when it came to clothing, wearing a faded festival t-shirt and jeans, the cuffs of which were frayed over her bare feet. Her one concession to the occasion appeared to be wearing her thick brown hair down about her shoulders, judging from the impatient way she flicked it from her face, she was accustomed to tying it back, out of the way. Observing he, Stannis felt rather overdressed for a moment, until he almost tripped over Sal’s legs, which were clad in shiny, electric blue skinny jeans and silver brogues. 

 

Davos’ houseboat was really not the best venue in terms of space, most of the people crammed inside it were sitting, legs tangled together, on the floor. However it was warm and though some unholy alliance of electric guitar and fiddle was playing on Davos’ stereo, even the noise of that was almost drowned out by their laughter. 

 

“Oh it’s Stannis, quick, get Stannis a drink!” Renly yelled as he entered.

 

“I don’t recall inviting you,” Stannis muttered down at him.

 

Renly crooked a disbelieving eyebrow,“Please...Since when has that ever stopped me?”  

 

Stannis might have pressed the point, had he not been distracted by a sense of dawning horror as Melisandre swayed out of the kitchen, bearing two cups filled with some kind of ‘substance,’ its fumes searing Stannis’ nostrils even from across the room.

 

He turned to Davos, whose arm was still warm about his waist. “You let Mel loose on the drinks?” He asked, rather desperately, “I thought we had discussed this!” 

 

Davos shrugged, and said, with the insouciance of the significantly tipsy, “she broke in earlier and installed herself in the kitchen, by the time I got here it was far too late.” He took a sip from the cup and studied its contents with interest, “it’s not that bad actually, though it does burn a little going down.”

 

“Yes,” said Stannis fatalistically, “that’s probably the tequila.” He took a sip from his own cup and winced, “gods, I think this may be even more lethal than usual.” 

 

From behind him, Marya sighed, “damn, I was hoping that this would be one party where I wouldn’t be required to use my medical training at some point during the evening.” 

 

Davos grinned and slid down the wall, dragging Stannis with him. “Oh come on, it can’t be as bad as that awful scrumpy we had that time in Powerstock.”

 

Sal groaned, “gods what was the name of that stuff anyway, ‘Rat’s Arse’ or something like that? Why is it that every time I go anywhere with you two I end up waking up in a field convinced that I’ve gone blind and that I’m about to vomit up my spleen.”

 

Marya rolled her eyes, “that has only happened twice you melodramatic sod.”

 

“Yeah, well that was two times too many, and it might as well not have happened at all for all the sympathy I got from you.” 

 

Davos grinned and took another long sip of his drink, leaning heavily against Stannis. “Well I don’t know what you expected Sal, I didn’t get much beyond a stern talking-to when I broke three of my toes at that ceilidh.” 

 

Catelyn raised an eyebrow a little more clumsily than usual, “how on earth did that happen?”

 

“It happened due to a perfect storm of over-strong cider, an inadvisable level of mud, and the sort of dancing that primarily involves running around a lot and colliding with people,” Marya replied, “Davos did a spectacular skid and planted himself face-first on the stage.” She glared over at him, “in the process, he managed to break some bones, but that wasn’t why I was pissed, my problem was that the daft bastard didn’t tell me about it until the next day because he was too busy shagging the accordionist.”  

 

Davos smirked down into his beard and Stannis quashed the savage impulse to find this man, wherever he was, and break his accordion over his head. Seeking some form of distraction, he glanced down at his drink, only to find that it was empty. As he did so, Melisandre leaned over and gave them both fresh cups. 

 

“I once punched an accordionist,” Brienne remarked dreamily, going up several more places in Stannis’ regard. 

 

“I,” Maege slurred, “once kneecapped a fiddler.” 

 

The conversation became somewhat surreal after that. 

 

Stannis did not know how much time passed, the alcohol had begun to affect him and he listened to the cheerful one-upmanship of the others as though through a warm, enveloping mist. The heat of Davos pressed up along his side was reassuring in its solidity  and, surreptitiously, he splayed his hand along Davos’ ribs in order to feel them expand and retract with each breath. 

 

Marya was alternating between glancing over at them and grinning down into her cup. 

 

Stannis tried to muster up a scowl, they did not need her approval, nor her silent blessing, but as he tensed, Davos shifted minutely and Stannis felt a the hot flood of his breath wash over his collarbone. 

 

He glanced down, Davos was asleep. 

 

As if recognising this as their cue, the other guests began to move, helping each other up with much subdued laughter. 

 

“Don’t get up,” Marya said softly, “it would be a shame to disturb him.”

 

Stannis glanced around the boat, its occupants in various stages of inebriation, “I ought to help get people home.”

 

She shook her head, “no need, I’ve got it covered. I stayed away from the punch.”

 

Melisandre stood up, her dress somehow neither ruffled nor creased, “I will help,” she smirked down at Stannis, “I know better than to drink my own poison.” 

 

So Stannis sat, superfluous to all but the man using him as a pillow as the two women ushered the others out, Melisandre giving Renly a sharp kick to the ankle when he seemed about to make some sly comment. Curiously, he found that he did not mind it at all. 

 

However pleasant it was, they could not remain upon the floor. Stannis pulled Davos’ arm up over his shoulders and gently hauled him up, the other man half-waking and helping him along as they staggered the short distance to the cabin. 

 

Once there Stannis placed Davos down on the bed, pulling his shoes off. He hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should go into the spare cabin, but his decision was made for him when Davos reached out sleepily and fastened his hand around his wrist. 

 

“C’mere.” He muttered, his face soft and his eyes hooded. 

 

“That is not endearing,” Stannis told him sternly, as he pulled off his own shoes and slid under the covers. 

 

***

 

The next day Stannis awoke to Davos’ mouth warm against his own, his fingers lazily unbuttoning his shirt. He duly sent out silent thanks to Melisandre for ensuring that her concoctions did not generally produce hangovers, then promptly forgot her and the rest of the world entirely as he twisted and rolled Davos over onto his back. 

 

When he finally emerged, only to grab his laptop from his car and retreat back into the cabin, he found an email waiting for him from Marya. Evidently she had been indulging in some surreptitious photography the previous night as the attachment on the email contained an image, obviously taken before Davos had fallen asleep. It showed them both sprawled up against each other, cups dangling from their hands, listening in to the general conversation, Davos was grinning widely and even Stannis had an expression of wry amusement on his face, his hand circling possessively around Davos’ waist. 

 

“For the fridge,” he said to Davos as the other man peered over his shoulder to look at it. His reward for this innocuous statement was a blinding grin and a kiss that knocked the breath out of him

 

Stannis was used to being able to easily define what he was feeling at any particular moment, as it was usually a variation on anger, disappointment or at best, mere quietude. However, whatever this strange emotion, which was causing his throat to burn as he wound his hands into Davos‘ hair was, he could not name it.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, time for full disclosure. I did not, alas, have to look far in order to conjure up some tales of a misspent youth for Marya, Sal and Davos, as they are all exaggerated versions of my own experiences. 
> 
> There is indeed a town named Powerstock in Dorset, which holds an annual cider festival that I have attended (I have carried the name of the village over into Westeros as it is too awesome to change). There I ill-advisedly drank some scrumpy that was both utterly rank and strong enough to fell a horse, and which I believe may have had the word 'Rat' somewhere in its name, which really should have warned me off. I did however, manage to avoid waking up in a field, on that occasion at least. 
> 
> I have also managed to perform a reverse stage-dive while at a particularly violent ceilidh, though in the process I merely sprained my foot rather than breaking it. Also, I have never shagged an accordionist, I fabricated that part of Davos' personal history purely to make Stannis jealous.


	15. Your Cause To Advance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're off with the plot once again, and I'm afraid it's time for a little enforced separation...
> 
> Sorry for the slightly longer gap between updates, I read my absolute favourite Davos chapter again (it's in SoS, I bet you can guess which one I'm talking about) and I ended up redrafting the whole of the first half. 
> 
> The song for this chapter is 'I Wonder What is Keeping My True Love This Night', performed by Kate Rusby. It's not massively appropriate to their relationship in general but I can imagine Davos morosely playing it again and again while Stannis is away, because he is a giant sap.
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KNkFdjRFrAA

_I wonder what is keeping my true love this night_

_I wonder what is keeping him out of my sight_

_I wonder if he knows of the pain I endure_

_And stays from me this night I'm not sure_

 

 _I Wonder What is Keeping my True Love This Night._ Performed by Kate Rusby. 

 

 

In the week that followed a gale blew in from the north-east, curling around the island like a great cat, spitting and harrying those who lived there so violently that few cared to stir out of doors. The spring tide that followed it was whipped into a frenzy and, at its extreme height, it so buffeted Davos’ houseboat, even in the shelter of the harbour, that Stannis insisted he stay in the castle. Davos went willingly enough and it seemed his presence contented Stannis, whose mood in every other respect had taken a turn for the worse. 

 

So far they had hit only dead ends in their quest for funding. The main charities, overstretched and beset from all sides, tended to respond, if at all, with politely worded rejections that oozed regret but gave little cause for any future hopes. A fretful committee meeting had followed where the possibility of approaching private individuals was mooted, Stannis’ pride, which was already bruised, caused him to vehemently reject the idea, his hand tightening like a vise on Davos’ leg as he shouted at Jon Arryn over the table. The meeting had broken up shortly after and Davos had spent the next two hours sitting in the kitchen while Stannis paced back and forth like a caged tiger, trying to lower the pitch of frustration that caused Stannis’ jaw to work and his hands to clench. The clock had long struck midnight when Davos felt Stannis’ back relax beneath his hands and he began to hope that they might finally be able to sleep.  

 

To Davos’ dismay, all his hard work was undone the next day when Jon Arryn presented Stannis with a fait accompli. 

 

The first Davos knew of it was when he received a text from Mel as he was about to leave Maidenpool. 

 

_JA has gone behind our backs re. funding. Stannis furious. Hurry back. Mel_

 

Davos cursed and drove back towards Dunskendale, chafing against the speed limits all the way. As the island finally came into view, Davos, with the single-mindedness that affected him whenever Stannis was near, fumbled with the coin to pay the ferryman and almost tried to drive off before they had properly docked, so fixated was he upon the dark figure waiting on the jetty.

 

Davos quickly tried to assess how long Stannis had been waiting there as he pulled into a space in the near-deserted car park, flinging open the door on the passenger side. The wind shrieked as Stannis climbed into the seat beside him, his face grim and his eyes burning, and Davos longed to take those ashen hands between his and the rub some warmth back into them. He forbore to do so however, as Stannis looked as though the slightest touch might provoke a violent outburst. 

 

“How long have you been waiting?” Davos asked, taking care not to sound over-solicitous. 

 

“As long as was necessary,” Stannis replied curtly. ‘I assume Melisandre has told you all?”

 

“Merely the bare bones of the matter,” Davos replied, “I would rather hear your account of it.” 

 

It was a while before Stannis spoke and Davos watched his gaunt profile, his jaw grinding and clenching, the action accentuating the hollows in his cheeks. He seemed to look once again upon that windswept, bitter man he had first seen on the beach on New Years Day, the likeness made his heart tighten within him. 

 

“Apparently Jon Arryn felt compelled to send a _speculative_ email to an old friend of his last night,” Stannis began, his voice tight with anger, “this man, a certain Aemon Targaryen, has a history of supporting ventures such as ours and Jon insists that he only initiated contact so that he might point him in the direction of some other potential funding bodies,” Stannis sneered, making his opinion of the truth of that claim clear, “however the result of his meddling is that his friend has expressed a provisional willingness to aid us, provided that he has the chance to speak to me and my staff.” Stannis’ eyes blazed and Davos knew that he had come to the crux of the matter and the fount of Stannis’ rage. “So I am therefore expected to travel down to King’s Landing, begging bowl in hand, to dance attendance on this man in the hope that I might win his _approval_.” Stannis brought his hand down sharply on the dashboard. “It is not to be borne.” 

 

Davos waited until Stannis’ harsh breaths had leveled out somewhat before he spoke. “If you truly think you cannot bear it, you must not go.”

 

Stannis gave a harsh, mirthless laugh. “And how likely do you think the possibility that we will receive another such offer within six months, can you tell me that Davos?”

 

“I am certain you will not,” Davos said bluntly. 

 

Stannis nodded grimly, “so it seems I have no choice.”

 

“Of course you have a choice,” Davos responded fiercely, “you do not have to accept humiliation if you feel the price is not worth paying. That said, I believe it would be wrong of you not to go,” he swallowed as Stannis turned his glare upon him, but pressed on nevertheless, “as I see it, you have a duty to the rest of the campaign, they have given much to see our cause succeed and though I am sure most of us would act in your stead if we could, it is only you who can do this last thing.” Stannis’ glare pierced him, but still he continued, his voice somehow remaining even, though his blood burned in his throat “you always do what is right, however distasteful you find it, to do otherwise would be beneath you. I think you know that you will go and see this man, in which case we should stop pretending otherwise.” 

 

For a few black moments Stannis looked out at Davos through furious eyes, before his brow loosened and he turned his gaze to stare back out into the wind. “You are right of course Davos, and I’m glad that you were honest with me.” 

 

Davos smiled wryly and glanced at Stannis hand where it rested on the seat, wondering if he dared reach out and take it. “I once lied to you by omission and it made me sick to my stomach. I swore after that I would never be less than truthful with you again.”

 

Though his face remained stern, to Davos’ delight it was Stannis who reached over, twining their fingers together. “Then tell me this,” Stannis said, “are you angry?” As he said this he glanced over at Davos and there was the briefest glimmer of trepidation in his eyes, it passed so quickly that few could have seen it but it brought a reply tumbling out of Davos almost before Stannis had finished speaking.  

 

“Not with you!” Davos paused, and spoke rather more softly, though he did allow a little of his displeasure to colour his voice. “Though I could cheerfully strangle Jon Arryn, whatever the effects of his intervention, he had no right to act without consulting you. Plus.” he added, his cheeks warming, “he caused you some distress. I’m afraid that’s near unforgivable.” 

 

The look of utter surprise on Stannis’ face almost rent Davos’ heart asunder and he struggled to find some way to express his sorrow that this idea should be so shocking. His thoughts were, however, arrested, as Stannis' hand reached up to cradle his jaw.

 

“Sometimes,” Stannis said, his voice serious and edged with incredulity, “I can’t quite believe that you are real, Davos Seaworth.” 

 

***

 

Despite his initial reluctance, it could never be said that once Stannis Baratheon decided on a course of action, he pursued it with anything less than complete dedication. He spent the intervening week furiously cobbling together a presentation, trying, and failing to be patient with Sam’s nerves and enduring carefully phrased variations of the ‘please don’t be too blunt or actively insulting to this man as we really need his money’ speech from Catelyn. Much to his frustration, the wind had dropped and the ferries had started going back and forth between the island and Dunskendale once more. Therefore the common pressure of work meant that he and Davos did not see each other nearly as frequently as they were accustomed to. 

 

On the night before he was due to leave, Stannis decisively closed his laptop and grabbed his keys and coat with the firm intention of heading out to the houseboat and if necessary, waiting there until Davos returned. He paused, however, when he heard the familiar sound of a key turning in his  door. Apparently Davos had beaten him to it. 

 

“Oh,” said Davos, standing in the doorway with a shopping bag, failing to conceal a disappointed expression, “were you going out?”

 

“I was heading over to yours,” Stannis said, grabbing Davos’ arm and pulling him inside. 

Davos smiled and gave a small gasp of pleasure as Stannis pressed him up against the door and kissed him lingeringly, yielding to the impulse to bite down on his lower lip. He observed with interest that Davos’ body jerked at this and that he was clinging rather desperately onto his shoulders by the time Stannis eventually pulled away. 

 

Catching his breath, Davos ran his hand distractedly through his hair and retrieved his bag from where it had fallen to the floor. He then followed Stannis  through to the kitchen and dumped it onto the counter. 

 

“Right, I got stuck in a bloody meeting all through my lunch hour, so let’s get dinner out of the way,” he said, uncorking the wine and pouring them both a generous glass. 

 

“Hence the three-minute cooking time,” Stannis remarked, taking the ready-made ravioli and the pot of pesto from out of the bag and setting the kettle to boil.

 

“I had a feeling I wouldn’t be in the mood to wait around tonight,” Davos explained, not bothering to disguise the way his eyes slid up and down Stannis’ torso. 

 

Stannis felt a flush creep up the back of his neck and he pulled Davos close, marveling at how easy it was to touch him now, where previously every brush of skin had been fraught with doubts and frustrated desire. They ended with Davos sitting up on the counter, his legs wound around Stannis’ back and his grip on Stannis’ shirt tightening as he kissed his way down Davos’ neck, feeling the jump of his pulse beneath his tongue. He had managed to get the first three buttons of Davos’ shirt open and was about to pull it down, baring Davos’ shoulders, when he was interrupted by a growl that came from Davos’ stomach rather than his throat. 

 

“Bugger,” Davos said, embarrassed, his breath coming fast, “that’s certainly killed the mood.”

 

Stannis shot him a chiding look, leaning in to press his mouth to the hollow of his throat once more. “It’ll teach you to skip lunch,” he murmured, pulling away with some reluctance. 

 

Davos raised an eyebrow, amused, “yes that’s certainly taught me,” he murmured and slid off the counter, still staring at Stannis’ mouth and leaving his shirt hanging partially open. Stannis took a large sip of his wine and forcibly prevented himself from reaching out once more as Davos grabbed a pan from the drawer, “right, let’s get this on the go.” 

 

Stannis normally preferred to eat at the table, but on this evening he was glad to sit on the sofa, eating with unseemly haste and finding his eyes constantly drawn to the triangle of Davos skin, easily visible between the two halves of his shirt. 

 

“Right,” Davos said; once they had both finished, throwing his fork down, dumping the bowl on the side and pulling Stannis in for a hard kiss. His mouth tasted of basil and wine and Stannis groaned as Davos drew his tongue into his mouth and sucked on it greedily. Abruptly, he pulled away and grabbed their wine glasses with the hand not occupied with grasping Stannis’ collar, “shall we?”

 

Stannis swallowed hard, grabbed the bottle and followed him into the bedroom. 

 

***

 

If any of his students noticed that Davos refrained from sitting down the next day, or that he wore a high-necked jumper even with the heating in his office turned up high, they didn’t comment. 

 

Melisandre showed no such restraint when she met him for lunch. 

 

“Rough night?” She asked with false innocence as Davos shifted uncomfortably in his seat for the fifth time in as many minutes. 

 

Davos glared at her. “I would call your bluff and give you all the details, but I have a horrible feeling that I would find it more embarrassing than you.”

 

She smiled, “you’re beginning to catch on.” Then her face grew serious, “was he ok?”

 

Davos hesitated, there had been something in Stannis’ eyes last night, a brief uncertainty as though he was about to ask for something and was afraid he would be refused it, or perhaps, he feared that the answer might be yes. Davos had several theories as to what was troubling him, but no clear idea which of them might be right. “He seemed generally alright,” he answered Melisandre carefully, then grinned ruefully, “if anything I was worse, which is ridiculous, he’s only going to be away for a week.” 

 

“And you’ve barely spent longer than a day apart since you started seeing each other,” Melisandre answered, taking a bite out of her dal. “Stannis has never had anyone to miss before,” she explained, looking troubled.

 

“Well, you’re frequently away,” Davos pointed out.

 

She smiled rather sadly, “yes Davos, but the expectation that I won’t be around very often is built into our relationship, we are close yes, and we trust each other absolutely, but we have taken care not to become so close that it hurts when we part.” She sighed, “he has taken no such precautions with you.”

 

Davos swallowed, thinking of the marks on his collarbone, where he had grabbed a fistful of Stannis’ hair and begged him to bite down, needing some kind of mark, something of Stannis’ that would not fade in the days they would be apart. He stared pensively out of the window for a while, where the world had grown grey and fluid with rain, before he answered Melisandre’s unspoken question. “I don’t think I’ve been very careful either.” 

 

Melisandre smiled warmly at him, but her eyes were fierce. “Good,” was her only reply. 

 

***

 

If the gods were truly good, Sam decided as he finally reached the safety of his hotel room, he would never have to travel anywhere with Stannis Baratheon ever again. The horror had started when he had arrived outside Stannis’ flat early in the morning, only to find him snogging Davos Seaworth in the doorway. Now the act itself didn’t trouble Sam, and it had been pretty obvious that the two were an item, what with all the longing looks and supposedly subtle touches that passed between them at committee meetings. However, on seeing direct evidence of their relationship, it was difficult for Sam to suppress the urge to scream at Davos to _run away._ Davos was _nice,_ he listened to peoples’ problems, fixed things when they were broken, gods, he probably rescued kittens from trees and helped old ladies across the road. The point was, while Sam had finally abandoned the idea that Stannis was an evil cyborg bent on avenging himself against the human race through the medium of library fines, he was still completely convinced that the man ate puppies for breakfast.  

 

Matters had not improved when Stannis finally noticed Sam’s presence, saying his farewells and giving Sam an especially poisonous glare, evidently finding him a hugely inferior substitute for his previous companion. Needless to say, the first half-hour of the drive passed in resentful silence, before Sam finally plucked up the courage to ask if he could put the radio on. 

 

As there was still an hour of The Today Programme to go, this turned out to have been a grave mistake. After Stannis had finally ceased his enraged rant in which he had comprehensively consigned all politicians and the journalists whose poor interview technique prevented them from being properly held to account, to the worst of the seven hells, Sam had a throbbing headache and was seriously considering throwing himself out of the car. The one consolation was that the opportunity to vent his spleen seemed to lighten Stannis’ mood a little, though the respite did not last long and the atmosphere in the car grew even more thunderous as they neared King’s Landing. 

 

Stannis had chosen the hotel, using some kind of criteria that seemed to mainly revolve around it being as far away from his brother’s neighbourhood as possible, but Sam hardly noticed anything about it in his eagerness to make his escape. That is, until they had both checked in and he turned around, ready to make his excuses to Stannis and to beat a quick retreat. 

 

Stannis looked utterly miserable, his mouth viciously downturned and his tall figure somehow hunched as he stared bleakly down at his suitcase. Unaware that Sam was watching he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and hesitated, torn by some internal debate. It ended when he shook his head briefly and slipped the phone back into his pocket, wearily hefting his bag up and leaving the lobby without a word. 

 

With a sense of horror Sam realised that Stannis probably wasn’t luring Davos into a false sense of security in order to use him as some sort of sacrifice after all, he was actually besotted with the man. As he considered this, Sam came to the conclusion that this was the most terrifying of all the possible explanations for Stannis’ behaviour. Sam had no personal experience of love but Jon had assured him, when he had turned up on Sam’s doorstep after an absence of three months, that it made you do very strange things. Bearing in mind that he had been shivering convulsively and wearing an odd patchwork cloak at the time, Sam was inclined to take him at his word. 

 

Sam wasn’t sure he wanted to contemplate the prospect of Stannis Baratheon behaving erratically, somehow the concept brought the phrase ‘effusion of blood’ to mind.  

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to let you all know, Melisandre didn't need Davos to tell her anything about what he and Stannis got up to, she saw it all in the flames. ;)


	16. Waiting For A Miracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so this is the penultimate chapter, not taking the epilogue into account. Again, it's going to be decidedly M rated by the end of the chapter. 
> 
> For this chapter's track, I'm making a brief foray into the Indian folk tradition as Raghu Dixit's 'I'm in Mumbai Waiting For A Miracle' is essentially about being stuck in a city and wanting to be somewhere else, so I thought it was kind of appropriate. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy. :)
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KztpRHHiZco

_Well I’m in Mumbai and I’m waiting for a miracle._

 

Raghu Dixit, 

 

Even at the best of times the air in King’s Landing was muggy and close, but it was stuffier still in Aemon Targaryen’s rooms. There a fire burned constantly, and the daylight that managed to struggle through the chinks in the thick red curtains made little headway against the warm gloom. In the heart of the fug Aemon huddled close into his chair, barely visible save for a pale cadaverous hand and the near-feverish gleam in his bright, dark eyes. Though his mind was sharp it was clear that his body could ill-sustain its energies, tiring easily after a mere ten minutes of conversation had passed. Stannis wasn’t sure if this made the situation worse or better, on the one hand it drew a conversation that could have been completed in a single morning out over several days, on the other it kept their time in the airless rooms short. 

 

Not that the streets were much better, thronged so thickly with jostling, hard-faced people that one was constantly at risk of being elbowed or pushed out into the road. However, though there was more space to move unimpeded and the faint chance that he might catch a breath of wind in the upper town, Stannis calculated that it was not worth the risk of lingering there, for there the possibility that he would run into a member of his family, or worse, one of the Lannisters, was much greater, Instead, after sending a relieved Sam on his way, he spent the first afternoon walking down by the outer walls of the Red Keep, where the Blackwater met the sea. It was better, but still far from satisfactory, for even here the water had a sickly, yellowish tinge and he was never entirely alone upon its banks. 

 

This solitude was itself sought as a poor compromise as, for perhaps the first time in his life, Stannis did not truly desire it, wishing instead for a particular companion who was miles away from him. The absence of Davos troubled him even in his dreams, and though he was not normally a restless sleeper, he had woken that morning, the covers tangled about his legs, reaching into the absence on the other side of the bed, his searching hand finding only the chill of empty sheets. 

 

Though this could not be remedied, there was however, a way to bring at least a part of Davos here. Stannis found a area of the waterfront that was at least partially secluded and pulled out his phone. 

 

Davos answered on the third ring, sounding a little harassed. “Hello?”

 

Stannis forced himself not to smile at the mere sound of Davos’ voice, though the struggle was harder than he would have liked. “Hello Davos.”

 

“Stannis!” On the other end of the line, it was clear that Davos was showing no such restraint. “How are things going?”

 

“Miserably, this city is as much of a pestilential dump as it has always been, and while Mr Targaryen does not appear to be senile at present, he has a tendency to burn incense in his rooms, which, along with his habit of drinking overly sweetened tea, can only be a sign of incipient mental decay.”

 

Davos chuckled, “I won’t pass that on to Catelyn, she’s been contacting me daily to agonise over whether you have completely alienated him yet. I’m not quite sure what she thinks I’ll be able to do about it if you have.”

 

Stannis sighed, “have they been bothering you?” 

 

“Oh it hasn’t been too bad,” Davos hastened to reassure him, “I think I may have made an error by agreeing to help Mel with her travel arrangements though, she appears to have taken that as tacit permission to make me the first point of contact for everyone she needs to deal with. I’m currently juggling the bookings for five separate flights between the Free Cities and conducting a negotiation via email with a slightly dodgy individual who says he’ll take her across the Summer Sea.” 

 

“Ah yes,” said Stannis, “had I been aware that she was planning to leave I would have warned you not to give her an inch when it comes to organising things, she’ll gladly offload all the tiresome details onto you if you let her.” 

 

“Well I’ll know that for next time,” Davos said ruefully, “so tell me, have you caused poor Sam to have a nervous breakdown yet?”

 

***

 

Davos  blithe attitude perhaps tempted fate a little, as it was upon that evening that the deluge truly hit. He was rattling about his houseboat, shifting uneasily from one task to another and trying not to dwell on the absence of a warm hand on his shoulder or a rough voice at his ear, when his phone began to buzz insistently.

 

Hopeful that it might be Stannis, Davos ran to pick it up. “Hello?” He answered eagerly. 

 

“Oh hey Davos!” The voice on the other end was familiar but not particularly welcome. 

 

“Renly,” Davos sighed, “are you ok?” 

 

“Oh I’m fine!” Renly cried, though there was an edge of hysteria in his voice, “I’ve just got the ferry over from Dunskendale, can you come and pick me up?”

 

“Wait, what...”

 

“Great! I’ll see you in five then.” Renly hastily hung up the phone, the dial tone cutting off any objections Davos might have made. 

 

As Davos was hurrying down to the jetty his mobile rang once more, and he answered it more cagily this time, “Renly?”

 

“Why would it be Renly?” Melisandre answered, nonplussed. 

 

“Oh hi Mel, I’m sorry. I’ve just had a call from Renly, apparently he’s come over to the island for some unfathomable reason. I’m just going down to pick him up.”

 

“What?” Melisandre groaned, “oh for heaven’s sake Davos, just leave him there. But as you’re on your way over, can you to come by the flat? I need your login to get hold of one of my e-tickets...”

 

“I can’t just leave him sitting on the jetty! It’s bloody freezing out here!” Davos replied, “I’ll  have to bring him round with me.”

 

Davos was beginning to wish that he had turned his phone off and remained in blissful ignorance by the time he reached the flat, Renly’s sob-story about how he had been caught in the crossfire of one of the Tyrell siblings’ rare disputes ringing in his ears. Though he claimed to be utterly desolate, Renly’s dejection did not last particularly long and he pushed in front of Davos as he opened the door to the flat cheerily enough, breezing into the kitchen quite complacently, in spite of Melisandre’s scowl. 

 

“Freeloading off your brother again Renly?” She asked, deceptively sweetly. 

 

“Hah! Like you can talk,” Renly sneered, rummaging through the cupboards, “gods why is there no decent food in here? I mean, who the hell eats muesli? Can’t you get Stannis to keep some Pop-Tarts or something Davos?”

 

“No I cannot,” Davos said, sharing an incredulous look with Melisandre. Shifting uncomfortably in his damp sweater and deciding to leave them to their dispute, Davos went into the bedroom to see if he could find the t-shirt he had lent Stannis, reasoning that it would at least be dry. However, after he had looked through all the drawers it was still nowhere to be found. 

 

“Mel?” He popped his head back round the door, frowning, “you haven’t seen one of my t-shirts lying around have you? It’s a Crownlands Festival one.”

 

“Stannis probably took it with him,” Renly smirked, evidently in jest, but his eyes widened as Melisandre looked up at him sharply, “gods, he actually did? Oh, I am _never_ going to let him live this down.”

 

“If you so much as _hint...”_ Melisandre began, her voice low and vehement, before Davos, blushing furiously, decided that he was going to intervene before this escalated out of control.

 

“Right.” He said, trying to sound authoritative, “if you two don’t stop behaving like children, I am going to throw you out.”

 

“You can’t throw me out of Stannis’ flat,” Renly objected, his voice petulant.

 

Melisandre snorted with derision, “of course he can you idiot. What?” she continued as Renly eyed her askance, “you really think Stannis wouldn’t back him up?”

 

Renly slumped down onto the sofa, pouting, and Davos struggled against the overwhelming urge to ring Stannis and beg him to come home. 

 

***

 

Stannis would have been only too glad to receive such a call as he passed uneasily through the night. His sleep was disturbed by febrile dreams, the faint scents of turpentine and ozone that still clung to the t-shirt he wore conjuring up the phantom presence of Davos. Drifting in and out of consciousness he chased fruitlessly after a touch that his mind insisted should be present, grinding his teeth in frustration as his hands met only the empty air. 

 

The next day, exhausted by insufficient sleep, Stannis finally caved in and walked down to Flea Bottom, cursing himself for a maudlin fool all the way. Over the previous decade the area had begun to neaten up around the edges, pavement cafes and antique shops creeping into areas where their nervous patrons would previously have feared to venture. However, the raucous heart of it was still much as Davos had described, cacophonous with competing languages, the air bright with spices and its buildings a patchwork of graffiti, washing lines and boarded up windows. The crowds were even thicker here and the pavements much narrower and, as he halted on a particular corner, Stannis was jostled by a laughing group of teenagers, drawn from the various corners of Westeros and Essos, but all adopting the insouciance of the city dweller. They paid Stannis’ glare no mind, save for one boy with scruffy hair, loping along easily at the back of the group, who shot him a placatory grin. 

 

“Sorry mate,” he muttered, before heading on his way. 

 

_I wonder if Davos was anything like that._ The thought swam through Stannis mind entirely without his permission and he shook his head in self-disgust, alarming several passers-by with the ferocity of his frown. 

 

Seven hells, he needed to get a grip, or better still, he needed to get back to Dragonstone, to _Davos,_ as quickly as possible. 

 

Stannis turned on his heel, leaving the cheerful miasma of Flea Bottom behind him and taking out his phone once he reached a quieter street. There, he left a brusque message on Aemon’s answer-phone requesting a meeting as soon as it was convenient. 

 

The reply came quickly, almost as though Aemon had anticipated Stannis’ request, and they agreed that he would meet with Stannis at nine o’clock the next morning. 

 

***

 

“Good morning,” Aemon said, offering Stannis a cup of tea.

 

Stannis nodded in acknowledgement, grimly repressing the desire to sneeze, the gods knew what the old man had been burning this time, but the fumes were even more noxious than usual. He took the teacup from Aemon’s shaking hand without tasting its contents and, considering that the pleasantries had now been completed, said, “I would quite like to come to the point this morning.”

 

Aemon chuckled raspily, “you have been wanting to come to the point ever since you arrived,” he held up a placatory hand as Stannis began to grit his teeth, “I must thank you for indulging an old man, especially as it is not in your nature to do so.”

 

“Very well,” Stannis said stiffly, half rising out of his chair. “I must thank you for your time, but if you do not mind, I will take my leave.”

 

Aemon raised his eyebrows, “shouldn’t we discuss the practicalities of setting up the fund for the Library?”

 

Stannis put his cup down on the side-table with an audible clank, ignoring Aemon’s wince. “I’m sorry?”

 

“Oh I always meant to help you.The gods know what else I’ll do with my money as I have no kin. I merely wanted to meet you to see that you were honest, and five minutes in your presence were enough to convince me of that. But I have so enjoyed talking to your assistant Sam, he is a very promising young man and I intend to see that he applies to the Citadel when circumstances allow.”

 

“I see,” said Stannis, deceptively calmly, wondering if Aemon Targaryen would repent of his offer if he threw his teacup against the wall. 

 

Aemon smiled wryly, “the crux of the matter Mr Baratheon, is that you can go home. I have  already emailed Jon Arryn, confirming all that I have told you, and I will be in touch later. What time are you meant to be checking out of your hotel?”

 

“Midday,” Stannis said.

 

“Oh excellent, you’ll have time to finish your tea.” 

 

***

 

Whoever it was who had claimed that keeping busy was a good distraction from your troubles, Davos thought savagely as he squinted miserably down at the car engine, blinking the rain from his eyes, that person was an arrant fool. All that running out to Maege’s aid had achieved was that, instead of missing Stannis in the comfort of his flat, he  was now missing him in the cold and wet, staring down under the bonnet of a car with absolutely no idea as to what he was supposed to be looking for. 

 

It had, all in all, not been the best of weeks. He had thought that the worst was over when he had safely delivered Renly back to the mainland, but that had turned out to merely be the first wave. On the Wednesday evening the entire committee had turned up on Stannis’ doorstep, evidently expecting Davos to be there, and had spent their time not so subtly pumping him for information as to how things were going in the city. Davos had tried to phrase Stannis’ increasingly irritated reports in slightly more diplomatic langauge, but judging by their faces, he had not done a particularly good job of it. After that it had been a constant stream of favours being asked and messages being left for him to pass on, and while Davos was perfectly willing to help he was a little piqued that he had been allowed very little time to feel sorry for himself. 

 

“Any joy?” Maege asked, shaking her sodden hair away from her forehead and looking irritatingly cheerful for someone whose car was probably damaged beyond repair.

 

Davos sighed, “frankly Maege, I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing here.”

 

She grinned, “I thought not, but I didn’t reckon you’d have come out if I told you straight off that I just needed you to help push the car back into town.”

 

Davos glanced up along the road, which the incessant rain had turned into a river of mud, “yeah, that was probably quite wise of you.”  

 

 

***

 

By the time he got back to the flat Davos was thoroughly drenched and so utterly miserable that he was barely aware of his surroundings, fixated solely on getting into the shower as quickly as possible. He therefore did not notice the door to the living room open as he cursed and tugged off his mud-caked boots. then, noting that the grime was also spattered all the way up his trousers, he grimaced and began to peel them off his legs. 

 

Someone in the hallway gave choked gasp, and Davos flinched back in surprise, his mouth falling open as he glanced up to see Stannis, who seemed equally taken aback.

 

“Bloody hell,” Melisandre remarked, floating in from the front room, “does he do this every time he comes in? If so, you’ve got him well-trained”

 

“Fuck!” Davos yelped, holding his sodden trousers up in front of him as a makeshift shield. 

 

“I’ll get a towel,” Stannis said, dragging his eyes away from Davos with some difficulty, “Mel...” He began.

 

She raised her hands, “alright, I’ll make myself scarce, I think I’ve had enough of an eyeful already.” She grinned at Davos, “I’ll see you later, probably not before tomorrow afternoon considering the circumstances.” 

 

Then she was gone and Davos was left standing rather awkwardly by the front door, his face red and his hair dripping down onto his shoulders. Fortunately, Stannis quickly reappeared round the corner, and, seeing that they were alone, he permitted himself a smile, which lingered around his eyes even as he rearranged his features into a stern expression. 

 

“Take your shirt off and come here,” Stannis ordered, unable to quite repress a satisfied twitch at the corner of his mouth as he said it. 

 

Davos had never moved quite so fast in his life. 

 

He moaned as Stannis ran the towel roughly over his back and through his hair, dropping it down onto the floor as he pulled him into a kiss. For a while Davos luxuriated in the heat of Stannis mouth and the feel of his hands, one tight against the nape of his neck and the other sliding down the damp skin of his back, though there remained an irritating voice at the back of his mind, insisting that he had left something unsaid. 

 

“Gods!” Davos panted, pulling away “I forgot to ask you how it went!”

 

In Davos’ defence, Stannis also looked momentarily puzzled, “Oh yes,” he replied, his voice low and hoarse, “he has agreed to fund us.” He cut off any reply Davos might have made by pressing their mouths together once more and dragging his hand down the few final inches of Davos’ lower back, slipping below the waistband of his boxer shorts. 

“That’s...great...” Davos gasped, when they next paused for breath, only just preventing himself from whining in frustration as Stannis stilled the motion of his hand. 

 

“Yes it is isn’t it,” Stannis said softly, almost to himself, as he ran a thumb along Davos’ eyebrow. “And yet when he told me so, my overriding impression was one of profound relief that I could come home.” He frowned pensively out of the window, where the wind was howling with rage and spitting raindrops violently against the glass. “My priorities have grown very strange,” he concluded, his eyes widening once more as he realised that Davos had used his temporary distraction to rapidly unbutton his shirt and had set to work on his belt. 

 

Davos grinned and was about to fall to his knees, but Stannis stopped him, pressing him back against the wall. 

 

“I have a better idea,” he growled, his breath hot against Davos’ ear, though he did not explain himself further, instead dragging the edge of his teeth down Davos’ throat and grinding their hips together.

 

“Fuck me!” Davos gasped helplessly, and he felt Stannis’ lips curve up into a smile against his chest. 

 

“No,” Stannis said, bringing his face back up to stare at Davos, “no, I thought that tonight we might try it the other way round.” 

 

Davos made a strangled, high-pitched noise in the back of his throat that he would have been very embarrassed by, had he been at all capable of any thought more complex than the instincts which served to propel him blindly after Stannis as he dragged him into the bedroom. 

 

They toppled under the bed, their movements hasty and covetous, before Davos forced his hands to still and desperately tried to regain some control before it was too late.

 

“Are you sure?” He panted, trying, even through the fog, to be cautious, as he was almost certain Stannis had never done this before. 

 

“Do you think I would ask this of you if I had any doubts?” Stannis growled into the hollow beneath Davos’ ear, “I have had time, these past few days, and I have given this a lot of thought.” He paused, breathing heavily, and Davos held his breath. “I trust you,” Stannis concluded, biting down on the sensitive skin beneath his mouth and drawing a moan from Davos. 

 

After that Davos did as he was bid, moving as though in a dream and trying to be as careful as possible, though it was difficult to do so with Stannis’ heavy, commanding gaze upon him, and the imperious way he glared and pulled on Davos’ limbs whenever he seemed to falter. 

 

Eventually matters came to a head, with Davos poised, trembling above Stannis, his eyes wild and his hair tousled this way and that, mangled by Stannis’ hand. If Stannis was nervous, he gave no sign, merely stared up at Davos, his blue eyes as hypnotic as a hawk’s. 

 

“Do it,” he commanded, and with a groan, Davos pushed in. 

 

Stannis gave a hiss, grabbed a fistful of Davos’ hair and bared his teeth in triumph, and Davos was lost. 

 

***

 

Davos was woken early next morning as the light spilled in, unhampered by the curtains they had forgotten to draw. He hauled himself up, his aching limbs protesting, and caught a sight of the sea, grey, as ever, but calm after last night’s squall. 

 

From below Stannis gave a muffled sound of protest and tugged at Davos’ hip. Davos smiled even as his fingers pressed against the bruises he had left there, and rolled back down into the covers, something warm and bright settling in his chest. 

 


	17. Crown And Deck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I may yet produce a small epilogue, but for all intents and purposes this is the last full chapter. It has been great fun to write and I would like to thank everyone for the fantastic feedback they have given me, seriously guys, you are all utterly brilliant. 
> 
> However, I am not completely done with this AU yet, so if any of you want to give me any prompts to fill based on this fic I will happily do so. I say this with the caveat that I will be heading off to India for a couple of months next week so I won't be able to write anything until the end of April. 
> 
> The final track is 'Montrose' by Steeleye Span, and many thanks to Vana for pointing out how utterly appropriate it is. 
> 
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tXUMDKYNer8

_I'll serve thee in such noble ways was never heard before,_

_I'll crown and deck thee with all bays and love thee more and more._

 

 _Montrose:_ Steeleye Span. 

 

“What on earth is this?” Stannis said, frowning down at the neat pile of paper laid on the kitchen table. They had only just staggered out of bed, rumpled and loose-limbed, though it was well past midday. Even Stannis, evidently striving to achieve a tone of irritation, was not quite able to excise the lingering traces of contentment from his voice. 

 

“Oh,” Davos said, “those are all the messages I took for you. Most of them are just things I was asked while I was out and about, but I thought it best to write them down in case I forgot anything.”

 

“But there are five pages here! I never usually get approached this much, even during the busiest of weeks.”

 

Davos chuckled, “that’s because everyone’s too scared to talk to you. It acts as one hell of a filter. Unfortunately I can’t muster up a similar air of menace.”

 

Stannis sniffed, “oh, well in that case,” he then folded the papers precisely and tossed them into the waste-paper bin. 

 

Davos sighed, but decided not to question it, “there’s one more thing. I don’t know what it’s about as it was addressed directly to you.” He handed over small envelope of heavy, good-quality paper, which had been dropped through Stannis’ letterbox on the third day of his absence. 

 

Evidently, Stannis had no doubts as to the nature of its contents, as he winced when he held it up, ripping open the envelope with the air of someone wanting to get an unpleasant job finished quickly. 

 

“As I suspected,” he grumbled, eyeing the card within with distaste, “Robert and Cersei are trying to paper over the cracks again and are holding another one of their spectacularly ill-advised parties.” He scowled down at the paper even more furiously as he read the postscript, “and it seems I am instructed to bring you along as well.” 

 

Davos shrugged, “well I suppose it’s understandable that they would want to meet me.”

 

Stannis sneered, “they want to use you to get to me.”

 

Davos might have protested, but he well remembered the state Stannis had been in, the last time he had been to one of his brother’s parties. “Well,” he said, taking a sip of tea, “we’ll just have to make sure they don’t.”

 

Stannis stood up, pacing over to the window, “you don’t have to come...” he began.

 

Davos brought his mug down sharply onto the table, cutting him off. “Of course I’m coming,” his said, his tone unyielding, “after all, you’ve met those whom I consider to be family.” 

 

“Yes, but though some of them may be a little eccentric, none of your friends are actively hostile,” Stannis argued.

 

“All the more reason that I should be there,” Davos countered decidedly. 

 

***

 

In the end Davos got his way, and he only repented of it a little as they pulled up outside the house, light blazing from the portico and its front garden a sea of gravel through which no blade of grass showed. However, one glance at Stannis’ rigid, miserable face made him doubly determined to endure all that followed. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Stannis’ cheekbone.

 

“We can leave whenever you want.”

 

At this Stannis relaxed, nodding decidedly and resting his cold hand briefly over Davos’, before unlocking his seatbelt and opening the car door. 

 

Once through the gate and up the path, they almost tripped over Renly, who was sitting on the steps leading up to the door, his legs stretched out and a cigarette in his mouth, the mangled butts of several others scattered about him. 

 

“I thought this wasn’t going to become a habit Renly.” Stannis growled disapprovingly. 

 

Renly, stubbed out his cigarette and drew his knees up to his chest, ignoring Stannis completely. “Hello Davos,” he said cheerfully, “at least you’ve arrived before the glassware has started to get thrown around. I’m glad you’re finally here, maybe you, Ned and Catelyn will form a critical mass of sanity.”

 

Stannis snorted, “I doubt it. I see you’ve managed to get out of bringing Loras again, or have you two had another fight?”

 

“Oh no, he’s inside,” Renly replied and gave a twisted, fearful grin, “with Magaerey.”

 

Stannis’ eyebrows shot up and he breathed in sharply, “are you _sure_ they haven’t started throwing things yet?”

 

“Oh it gets worse,” Renly said, his smile bright with panic, “ _Tyrion_ turned up half-an-hour ago, prompted by heaven knows what demon of mischief.” He shuddered and gestured behind him at the door, “that’s when I decided to get out.” 

 

Stannis looked desperately behind him at the car, but it was too late. The door was wrenched open, almost causing Renly to fall back into the porch. 

 

“Well what in the seven hells are you standing chattering out here for?” Robert roared. “Get inside!” 

 

Stannis and Davos shot each other a look of extreme trepidation as they helped Renly to haul himself up and passed over the threshold.  

 

***

 

It was, thank all the gods, not a formal dinner-party, Davos was not sure he could have dealt with them all staring up at him from a table. However, it was intimidating enough for him to walk into the cavernous front room, even with Catelyn shooting him a brief smile of welcome from the sofa, where she sat by her husband. 

 

“So,” Davos felt a large hand on his shoulder, “you’ll be Davos then.” Robert thrust a drink into his hand and Davos considered remarking that they had encountered one another before at the council offices, but after one glance at Robert’s jovial, slightly hostile face, he thought better of bringing it up. 

 

“Yes,” he answered, holding out his hand, setting his teeth and refusing to wince as it was taken in a crushing grip. 

 

“Well it’s certainly nice that _we_ get to see you at last,” Robert remarked, shooting a dirty look at Stannis, “I gather Renly has been in and out of your place like a yo-yo.”

 

“Renly has a bad habit of inviting himself to places, as you well know,” Stannis interjected sharply. 

 

“So Davos,” Robert said, as though Stannis hadn’t spoken. “What is it that you do?” 

 

“I teach at Maidenpool Further Education College,” Davos replied.

 

Robert laughed, “gods, that money-pit!” 

 

“It’s a very valuable source of training and a support for the local economy Robert” Ned called out wearily from the sofa.

 

Robert waved a dismissive hand, “don’t get your knickers in a twist Ned, we’ve discussed this.”

 

“I thought we had also discussed _no_ t speaking of council business here,” Cersei interjected bitterly, her voice only slightly slurred. 

 

Robert shot her a glare, but changed the subject as he turned back to Davos. “So, have you been teaching long?”

 

“For a few years,” Davos said, “before that I was in the merchant navy.”

 

“Oh so that’s where you got all those exotic...things in your houseboat,” Renly said cheerfully, seeming more secure now that he was ensconced on a sofa between Loras and Margaerey.

 

“Were you the captain of a ship Davos?” Loras asked, and Davos could not tell if his tone was facetious or not.

 

He decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “No. I was an on-ship carpenter.” 

 

“How charming,” Cersei said, taking another large sip from her glass, derision clear in her voice. 

 

Davos felt Stannis tense beside him, but he surreptitiously placed a calming hand on his wrist. For himself he found the whole situation faintly ridiculous, he hadn’t thought that this kind of snobbery still existed. In truth he felt rather detached from it all as Catelyn and Margaerey moved in to redirect the conversation, as though he were watching a rather artificial drawing-room comedy and they were warring actresses stepping out into the glow of the footlights. He let his hand slip down from Stannis’ wrist to his hand, anchoring himself against it, reveling in its solidity. 

 

“You neglected to mention that you occasionally dabble in private investigation Mr Seaworth,” a low amused voice came from behind Davos.

 

Davos glanced behind him and then down, to see Tyrion Lannister looking steadily up at him with eyes that were sharp and clear despite the drink in his hand.

 

Something told Davos that he shouldn’t try to deny it, “that was something of a one-off,” he answered carefully. 

 

“Oh I see. Well I’m not sure wether to be disappointed or reassured. After all, too much information in the hands of an honest man is as dangerous as wildfire.” Tyrion answered, courteously enough, though his eyes were glittering with amusement.

 

Davos was still puzzling over whether there was a threat contained in that statement when Tyrion spoke again. 

 

“I’d consider departing in the next half-hour if I were you, it seems that Margaerey and Cersei have decided to remain in each others’ orbit. The gods alone know precisely what kind of desolation will ensue, though I can make an educated guess.” He tipped his glass in ironic salutation, “it was a pleasure meeting you Mr Seaworth, do say hello to Melisandre for me.” 

 

Davos let out a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding and gripped Stannis’ hand a little tighter. For some reason that small, polite conversation had set him more on edge than all of Robert’s bluster. 

 

***

 

The following half-hour passed easily, too easily. Stannis knew it was foolish but he began to hope that they had endured the worst of it, that they would be allowed to depart and to journey home in relative peace.  

 

Unfortunately Robert had one last sally planned and he launched it as they were getting their coats. 

 

“So,” he said, leaning against the door to the porch, the light of the hallway blazing behind him. “You were lucky getting that funding.”

 

“I think there was also a little hard work involved,” Davos said mildly, shouldering his jacket on. His tone was polite and inoffensive, indeed a little too much so, Stannis knew Davos well enough by now to recognise that this was a sure sign that his temper was growing short. 

 

The prospect should not have pleased him so much, but it did. 

 

Robert performed his usual trick of blithely disregarding anything he did not want to hear and Stannis felt a hot spike of rage, Davos was not to be ignored. He gritted his teeth and tamped it down, focusing through it to hear what Robert said next. 

 

“Well however you managed it, there’s been interest from the private library down at Storm’s End, they could use a head librarian with a track-record of attracting funding.” Robert smiled at Stannis, clearly expecting gratitude, “you’d like that wouldn’t you? It’ll get you off that godforsaken island.”

 

There was a time when Stannis would have jumped at the chance, would have considered it no more than his long-awaited due, but now he did not even hesitate. “I am perfectly happy where I am thank you.” 

 

“Oh,” Robert’s eyes slid over to Davos, as though he had only just remembered he was there, “yes well, I suppose you two might want to stay near to each other for the moment, but,” and here his voice grew hearty and infinitely patronising, “you can’t shape your career around that, after all, in a year who knows what might happen!” 

 

Numb with rage, Stannis realised that Robert didn’t take them seriously, that he thought Davos might only last a few more months before Stannis drove him away. The thought brought bile to his throat and turned his stomach to ice and he was about to throw a few choice insults at his brother when he felt Davos’ hand slip into his, twining their fingers together. 

 

“I can assure you Robert,” Davos said, his voice calm and utterly, utterly sure, “that in ten years time I will still be around. Stannis may indeed wish to move, but that is something we will discuss _together,_ taking both our wishes into consideration.” 

 

Stannis didn’t think that Robert had an answer for that, but even if there had been one, he wasn’t sure he would have heard it through the roaring in his ears. It felt a lot like triumph, but there was something warm and yearning intertwined with it, a feeling that had been creeping up on him for some weeks, which he had been unable to define. 

 

He had a name for it now. 

 

***

 

Stannis was silent during the drive back to Dragonstone, and Davos began to worry. Had he overstepped? He had thought of little more than wiping that look of smug, supercilious scepticism off Robert’s face when their relationship was discussed. Perhaps on reflection he had gone a little overboard. He had no doubt that Stannis was serious in his attachment, but the mention of ten years of Davos might be enough to unsettle the steadiest person. 

  

He glanced over at Stannis as they sat motionless on the late ferry, Stannis’ hands were still clenched hard around the steering wheel and his eyes were slightly wild. _Bugger,_ Davos thought, feeling disappointment settle into his stomach. 

 

They did not turn towards Dragonstone town when they reached the island, Stannis choosing instead to drive them a little way down the coast. Eventually he pulled up in the deserted car park next to the beach, getting out without a word and setting off down through the dunes. 

 

Davos scrambled after him, almost walking into his back when Stannis stopped abruptly in the middle of the sand. Davos halted and tried to retreat a little but Stannis whirled around and seized his arms, holding him in place.

 

“Stannis..” Davos began, but he was immediately cut off.

 

“Did you mean what you said to Robert?” Stannis tone was urgent, his eyes searching. 

 

Davos may have had his misgivings but he was not about to lie, nor was he capable of dissembling, of pretending that he did not know what Stannis was talking about. “Yes,” he replied simply, and waited, his heart in his throat, to see how Stannis would react.

 

“And what about the ten years after? Will you promise those to me also?”

 

“What..?”

 

“I will speak plainly,” the wind was whipping at their coats, the sand stinging their faces, but Stannis was unmoved, his eyes fixed on Davos’. “I love you, and I will have your company not for a mere decade, but for the rest of your life. Do you understand?” Here he hesitated for the first time, his eyes flickering out to sea, “is this what you wish too?”

 

There was only one possible answer to this and Davos almost choked on his own breath in his eagerness to speak. “Of course! I love you, and I never want to be parted from you, but I thought...”

 

Davos voice tailed off in the face of the grim triumph on Stannis’ face, as it began to sink into him what had just passed between them. He was not given much time for thought however, as Stannis took both his hands, clasping them firmly between his own. 

 

“Do you swear it.”

 

There was a heaviness to this, a weight too great for a private vow, made late at night between a teacher and a librarian. The wind dropped as though it were witnessing something important, the kind of oath that kings or knights might swear. 

 

Davos nodded, feeling his assent drop around his shoulders like a mantle.

 

“I swear.”

 

Then Stannis’ mouth was upon his, as furious as the wind, his momentum such that Davos staggered, his heels pushed back into the sand. In the brief moments of coherent thought left to him Davos wondered joyously if the previous months had all been a pleasant dream, if he was back on that beach on New Year’s Day, but, instead of passing by, Stannis had stayed in his path, had taken hold of him and drawn him near as he had always been meant to do.

 

The wind tossed a few of the clouds aside, revealing a scrap of clear sky where the stars stared down, cold and impassive. No comet streaked blood across their faces, no omens sat there to encourage or mislead the men below. 

 

Not that they would have noticed, or cared anyway. 

 

 

      The End.

 

 


	18. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things I thought I would never do: Invent region names for a Westeros Shipping Forecast. 
> 
> (I would like to apologise to anyone who listens to the Forecast out of necessity rather than pleasure as the following is almost certainly monstrously inaccurate as my knowledge of meteorology is minimal at best.)
> 
> There is no music for this chapter as an extract from one of my favourite poems seemed more appropriate. It is doubly fitting as the works of the poet in question, Carol Ann Duffy, frequently appear on the English A-Level syllabus, so Davos would probably be studying her.

_Darkness outside. Inside, the radio's prayer —_

_Rockall. Malin. Dogger. Finisterre._

 

 _Prayer._ Carol Ann Duffy

 

_And now the Shipping Forecast, issued by the Met Office on behalf of the Maritime and Coastguard Agency at 0405 today._

 

Summer had eventually come to Dragonstone, a warm, damp blanket of sea mists, through which the sun blinked blearily, sinking with evident relief into the sea each evening. 

 

The nights were more muffled still and Davos found sleep hard to come by in the soupy air. So as the clocks struck midnight he sat up against the headboard, Stannis’ head a warm weight upon his thigh, the only sounds his steady, rasping breaths and the radio, burbling like bright water in the background. 

 

_New high expected Sunset 1033 by midnight tonight. High Selkie 1022 dissipating._

 

Below the town slumbered uneasily, with windows flung open and the occasional kitchen light flickering on as its inhabitant gave up on sleep as a bad job. The library lay quiet, its books, secure in their shelves, occupied in whispered communion, their pages rustling in answer to the creak of wooden desks and the cold, breathing silence of stone. 

 

Across the bay, the houseboat wallowed emptily in its berth. The day had passed, like all those preceding it for near two weeks, with Davos sprawled upon its warm and weathered deck in the afternoon, attempting to work as he watched the sun track its lazy course across the sky. Then, as the air turned violet and grew fragrant with rock-rose and salt, he had meandered barefoot along the long beach, heading towards town to meet Stannis after work. 

 

 

_Ursa, Sunset, Southeast veering Southwest 4 or 5, Occasional rain, fog patches. Moderate, occasionally poor, becoming good._

 

Stannis shifted, his nose brushing against the skin of Davos’ leg, and mumbled something that Davos couldn’t catch. He smiled, in the winter months he had occasionally wakened to find Stannis rigid and breathing harshly, his teeth grinding and his hand clenched hard about the sheets. As the weather had softened this had happened less and less, and now, as far as Davos could tell, chagrin and rage no longer tainted Stannis’ dreams. He ran his hands through Stannis’ hair and sent up silent thanks to the gods that his partner remained asleep, for he knew beyond a doubt that the expression currently on his face would cause him to roll his eyes. (Though Stannis would still pull him close, laying a kiss on his temple even as he chided him for his sentimentality.) 

 

 

_Direwolf, Blazewater, Leviathan, Variable or westerly 5 becoming southwesterly 4. Rain, fog patches. Moderate or poor, occasionally very poor._

 

There were still trials, the examination timetable had no mercy and would not wait on  account of balmy summer days. Davos had a week before he was due to sit the final paper for his A-Level and Stannis had thrown himself into the project of getting Davos through it with his customary vigour, drilling Davos on quotes and key concepts relentlessly. 

 

Renly’s laughter when Davos had sloped into the library the other day, ruefully handing several practice essays over to Stannis, had been so violent and sustained that Davos had taken him outside and got him a drink of water, for fear that he might choke. The innuendo that they had subsequently been subjected to had been incessant. 

 

He wasn’t sure that Mel would find the situation any less hilarious when she returned in a couple of days. Stannis had already warned him darkly that he had been attempting to talk her down from several extravagant ‘plans’ she had made for a post-exam party, though he had smiled as he did so, evidently sharing Davos’ pleasure that he had been firmly inducted into Mel’s small, charmed circle. When she had first left she had begun adding small postscripts to her letters to Stannis, addressed separately to Davos. As the weeks passed these had grown steadily longer until she had evidently grown impatient, now addressing her missives to them both. 

 

There were some days when Davos felt so utterly, fiercely happy that it frightened him. 

 

_Savannah, Westerly veering southwest 4 becoming 3. Slight or moderate. Fair. Moderate or good._

 

As his mind wandered, unknowingly, Davos’ fingers had tightened in Stannis’ hair, the tug pulling Stannis out of his fitful sleep. 

 

“The shipping forecast, really?” He mumbled hoarsely, pulling himself up to sit alongside Davos, slinging his arm around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to the first bit of skin his mouth found. 

 

“It’s probably an affectation,” Davos said, lacing his fingers with Stannis’, “but I quite like listening to it late at night. It gives the same kind of pleasure that you get from hearing the rain drumming against the windows. I’ve even heard some describe it as poetry.” 

 

_Winewater, Sandsea, Spear, Easterly veering southeast 2 or 3 becoming 4. Slight or moderate. Fair occasional fog patches. Moderate becoming good._

 

“You would probably be better off going over your set poems,” Stannis grumbled, kissing Davos again to take the sting out of it, “speaking of, seeing that we’re both awake, perhaps we could go over the poetry section of paper three...”

 

“No,” Davos glared, “you know the rule, no revision in bed. The gods know I’ve got prompt-cards and post-it notes littering every other area of my life, this is where I draw the line.”

 

“Well I doubt either of us are going to get back to sleep soon, what else do you propose that we do?”

 

Davos did not deign to answer, merely raising his eyebrow meaningfully.

 

Stannis’ mouth quirked, “ah yes, well I suppose that would be an acceptable alternative.” The eagerness with which he reached out for Davos belied the coolness of his words. 

 

_Graveyard, Sapphire, Wyvern, Southeast veering east 3 becoming 4. Slight or moderate. Fog patches then fair. Poor, occasionally very poor, becoming moderate._

 

“Oh wait,” Davos gasped, as Stannis kissed his way down his neck, “that was our area.”

 

“Unless,” Stannis said, pausing to nip at Davos’ collar-bone, “unless you intend that we should put to sea in the next few hours, I really couldn’t care less. Now hush.” He pulled Davos down into a kiss as he said this, running his fingers up into his hair. 

 

_Crabclaws, Grasper, Easterly 3 or 4. Moderate. Occasional rain, fog patches. Moderate occasionally poor._

 

Their voices were silent after this, though their hands grew eloquent, drowning out the burbling of the radio as the forecast swept northwards to its close. 

 

_Whitewater, Selkie. Easterly veering northeast 4 or 5, 6 for a time in north and east. Slight or moderate, becoming moderate or rough. Occasional rain for a time. Moderate or good occasionally poor at first._

 

The pips went and the night stretched onwards, the World Service assuredly stepping up to take the next watch. Davos thought he could hear faint music, something watery and wide, but he let it drift off into the night, its melody insignificant compared to the sound of their quickening breath.  

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested I have made a Spotify playlist for this fic. The only track I have not been able to include is the Kate Rusby one. It can be found on my Tumblr blog http://hedge-backwards.tumblr.com/

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Game of Stacks](https://archiveofourown.org/works/957122) by [CommaSplice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommaSplice/pseuds/CommaSplice)




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